


Superman Elseworlds: In the Name of...

by adkal



Category: Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-21 14:54:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 53,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12460101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adkal/pseuds/adkal
Summary: In a remote area of Pakistan...a baby comes down from the sky. Superman raised as a Muslim.Translations of some of the words can be found in the glossary starting at the end of Chapter 1, with further glossaries inserted when needed.





	1. Arrival

The couple rode their horse and cart in near silence, the only human sounds coming from her sniffles as she tried to control her tears. The man's beard was wet with his tears but he made no sound as he looked at his wife in concern.

They had just buried their fourth child; he was still-born. After the loss of their first three children, the woman had insisted that when the time for delivery came for the fourth, then she and her husband would not stay in the village. To this end, they hired a small cottage several miles away, well not hired exactly, more…swapped. A family worked for them in their fields and had offered the couple the use of their home during the last few weeks of the pregnancy. The farm-hands loved the couple for their kindness towards them, their reputation as upstanding people was known for miles and the man's honesty and good judgement had resulted in him being chosen as a mediator in a dispute on numerous occasions. Everyone knew of the loss of the first three children, and everyone – man, woman and child – prayed that God would grant the couple a child this time.

The horse stopped suddenly, its ears pricked and nose flaring. It stomped the ground nervously, tugging at the rope around its neck. The sky lit up as balls of fire fell from it. But the horse didn't bolt, the man's reassuring voice helped maintain its calm. It trusted its master.

One of the "balls" suddenly broke away from the rest and streaked towards them. The man and the woman prayed to God for His protection. The "ball" turned slightly and drove into the ground, heading away from the cart. Around them, the sound and flashes of the other "balls" could be heard thundering for miles, lighting up the pre-dawn sky.

Suddenly, the woman got off the cart and walked towards the trench that had been dug by the "ball". The heat prevented her from getting too close, however. Her husband followed, holding their oil lamp, calling to her and asking her to come back to the cart but she kept walking. After the ordeal she had just been through, he knew better than to try and force her to stop, so he quietly followed her along the side of the trench. When he heard her gasp he rushed to her side.

"By He in Whose hand my soul rests, I have never seen such a thing before!" he exclaimed when he saw the strange object embedded in the burnt earth. A gas seeped out of the object, cooling the earth around it. The sun had yet to rise and the light of the moon had been dimmed by the dust in the sky and now the trench no longer glowed, but a light emanated from the object, a light far brighter than that given off by the lamp in the man's hand, a light which had a silhouette…of a baby…

The man and woman both prayed for God's protection and, as one, they stepped down into the deep trench towards the now cool object. The woman touched the glowing area and it suddenly opened as if someone had drawn back a veil of liquid. The light brightened, bathing the couple in its glow; again the couple prayed, asking for God's protection from Satan, as they stepped back in fear. The light them dimmed around…a baby…a wet baby, as wet as a newborn. The woman laughed as she thanked God for His blessings and the man looked up at the sky and he, too, made a prayer of thanks. Quickly, the man rushed back to the carriage and came back with blankets and cloths to clean and wrap the baby with. He smiled as he saw the change in his wife.

After cleaning the baby and wrapping him in a blanket the woman held the child out to her husband. His beard was wet again, only this time with tears of joy. He cradled the babe in his arms and whispered the Call to Prayer in the baby's ear: "God is Greater than…There is no god but God…" Then he reached into his pocket and gave a date to his wife who then chewed it and then gave some of the juices from the date to the quiet child, rubbing them on the baby's lips tenderly.

"Let's take him home. I'll come back later to…to pick up…" the man turned to look at the object. He then looked at his wife in fear. "What if someone…"

"Hush, my love. God guided this child to us and us to him. He will protect us."

The man put his arm around his wife and together they walked back to the cart where their horse was waiting patiently.

As they neared their village an hour or so later, the couple feared that they would have to explain the arrival of the child to the others but then both paused and smiled when they realised that they wouldn't have to. The child was theirs…a gift from God.

"He has blue eyes…they're almost like your father's." said the woman to her husband.

"If he were a girl," said the man, "I would have suggested  _Inara_ …"

"Well, we can't call him Aladdin!" laughed the woman.

"Aladdin…'God-given'…hmm…" he laughed at the look of horror on his wife's face. It wasn't that it was a bad name, far from it, but the name would have put the boy in a position where he may grow up taunted and mocked, perhaps asked about his 'genie' and his lamp. No, choosing the name for a child is  _very_  important. It had to be just right. He smiled at the sleeping baby and then whispered a prayer to God to look after the children they had already lost.

* * *

"They're here!" the children cried out. They had been sitting on the village wall watching for the return of their favourite uncle and aunt, their hearts filled with the hope that this time they would have a little cousin as well. They rushed to the cart, the horse proudly raising its tired head.

"It's a boy," said the woman. The children stopped, gasped and then, grinning with delight, they ran back to the village to make the announcement.

The couple were not rich by any means. They had farmland and could afford to hire farm-hands but compared to most of the villagers who had sons and daughters settled in the West, they were the poorest. But they were loved and honoured above and beyond almost any other family. They were good people, maybe one of the select few in the world who could have raised the child they now had in a manner that would bring out the best in him.

The whole village had been waiting in anticipation, fearful that their beloved friends might lose another child, but the shouts of joy from the children triggered something in the adults. They rushed around gathering fruits and making sweets and food, everyone helping to make this joyous occasion a notable one. There were always celebrations upon the birth of a child in the village but this occasion was considered by all the villagers to be just that little bit more special. Their Uncle and Aunty had a son. They now had a little brother.

* * *

The seventh day came and it was now time to name the baby boy and to circumcise him.

The naming was hard. There were so many suggestions but then little Hajra suggested that they name him  _Ishmail_. Everyone agreed that it was the best name for him, and the fact that Hajra had said it made it seem all the more right, after all, Ishmail was the name God told Hajra to give to her child.

* * *

He was three years old when it happened. I hadn't felt fear like that for years.

Some of the Children had come home for a holiday. They were all so grown up but you could plainly see their discomfort in the village. They were no longer used to it after spending so many years in the cities in Europe and America. But at least they wanted their children to have some knowledge of their heritage, their background.

When they had left all those years ago, I had assumed that they would forget their Aunt. It was a surprise to see them all come back after Ishmail was born. They all came back to see him. They all offered to help in any way they could. It still brings tears to my eyes remembering.

No one knows quite how it happened, how Ishmail had climbed those stairs to the roof. Most probably, the door hadn't been shut properly. Naila screamed when she saw him on the roof. Almost everyone screamed when he fell to the ground. Thank God that Nadia was there. Imran had married a good woman, a doctor who loved to "come home". She rushed to Ishmail. Everyone was so quiet. Finally, she said that he seemed fine and that his arm was broken but she took him to the hospital to have him checked over thoroughly. Imran told us not to worry about the medical bill. But how could we not? The Children had done so much for us, there was no way we could possibly repay them.

When he came home everyone doted on him. I was worried that he may be getting spoilt and I think the Children and, well, everyone, knew that that was what I was thinking because they all reassured me that just as we had helped bring up their children, they would help with ours and would also ensure that he grew up to be a fine member of the village.

But a mother worries, right?

And if seeing him fall off a building made my heart stop, I don't know what I would have done if I had seen what Yusuf had seen!

* * *

I must have aged twenty years in those few minutes.

One of the Children had passed away when Ishmail was five years old. He was an only child and his mother had passed away when he was eleven and his father when he turned twenty-one. He had been flying to Japan when the plane he was on suffered a fault of some kind and crashed. 114 lives were lost. I had helped look after his fields, his inheritance from his father, and I never dreamed he would leave it all to me. When the lawyer came to the village to tell me, I was shocked. Even after all these years, I didn't understand or see how much the Children loved us. We had been trying for a child for fourteen years before God granted our request.

That day…Ishmail was crossing through one of the grazing areas, he was coming back from school. He was wearing a bright red jacket and I still don't know why he was coming home alone. But he  _was_ alone…walking across the field in that jacket.

And the bull rushed him.

I thought I'd find his crushed body, feared I'd see his red blood mixed with the red of the jacket.

Instead, I found him sitting there in shock. The jacket was torn, as was his shalwar, and his hair was ruffled, but there was not a scratch on him!

I never told Asiyah about it until a few weeks later…when we saw just how strong our little boy was.

I gave one of the fields Amir had left to me to the masjid and we built a school there where the children could learn the Qur'an and about Islam. It wasn't just the children present at the village who attended. Some of the Children sent back their children to learn as well. Their ages varied, some were less than 10 years old whilst others were in their late teens and early twenties. It was quite heartwarming seeing their eagerness. The experiences that the children from the West brought with them made them see things in quite a different light to those of the village and the older children were quite forthcoming in expressing their views.

Ishmail knew the Qur'an and hundreds of Hadith by heart by the time he was 8 years old. His knowledge astonished everyone and none were more astonished than Salman when he introduced him to the science of Biology. Ishmail would ask him hundreds of questions based on his own observations in his tender years and Salman had a hard time keeping up, even though he was a student at a university in London and Biology was his "specialisation".

When he was introduced to other sciences, other schools of thought, Ishmail approached them all with the same vigour.

But then he stopped. He no longer got a hundred percent at school, sometimes he would incorrectly recall an Ahadith and he no longer played with the children.

The problem was that the children who had been born just before his arrival or since it…they resented him. The older children competed with him gladly and, yes, some were upset when he bested them in knowledge, but the younger ones…they apparently felt that there was no way that they could attain his standard. I think Ishmail realised this and that's why he pulled away, although he has never admitted it to us.

Then Lubna arrived.

* * *

Lubna…I still remember the day when Ishmail first saw her. She was Nadia and Imran's little girl, born the same year as Ishmail. They were three years old when they first met, just before the accident. Ishmail was the kind of child who was inquisitive, would always be looking around but when he saw her, he looked at nothing else. She was sitting with Nadia in their parents' home; they had just come to the village that day. She was sitting there in a pink dress with little pink shoes on and she was yawning. Ishmail was with us when we visited them and we didn't realise that he just stood at the door, his mouth agape.

I used to tease him about that – I'm his mother, I can do that – that when he was a little older, especially after she had come back. The problem was that although she thought he was nice, he "weirded her out", Nadia told me several years later.

She came back when they were both 9 years old and she stayed here for a year. This was after Ishmail's…change. It was a week before she saw him, even though she came round every day. Nadia had told her to give him a gift she had chosen and Lubna was adamant that only she would give it to him. Seeing her pace up and down the room cursing him, I was glad we didn't get very good reception for our little television.

Ishmail came home a little before Maghrib and found Lubna napping in his room. He went off to perform his ablutions and, as he returned, I saw Lubna try to kick him.

* * *

It was just a joke. Come on, he had avoided me for a week, so a kick up the rear was called for. I didn't think he would move out of the way, so  _I_  was the one who ended up with a sore behind. When he smiled at me, my first thought was 'how are his teeth so straight', and my next thought was how to stop the tears. My bum really hurt! And  _then_ , when I saw him holding the present, that he had somehow  _caught_  it,  _then_  I was angry. And do you know what the cheeky git did? He apologised and handed it back to me!

I'm pretty sure I swore at him.

…

We sorted things out – I shouted at him and he listened – and, finally, we opened the present. I didn't know what my Mum had sent; all I knew was that it was heavy. Ishy was curious, too, but he let me open it.

It was a laptop and, according to the letter my Mum sent with it, it had a satellite uplink to compensate for the lack of internet in the village. Mum was a bit of a tech-geek back then, but I think she had a friend of hers get everything set up. Anyway, it had a lot of educational material on there – some really advanced stuff and, with the uplink, Ishy could get more when he was ready for it.

Then I saw why he was grinning. There was a line in the letter – 'maybe you and Lubna can study together'.

Uhh!

* * *

Ishmail loved that laptop and the worlds it introduced him to. It was impossible for any of us to teach him anything, he had been making references to things we had no idea about, but with the laptop…well, I saw the change, the reassurance he received from it. He could see and hear things none of us could, and one of the reasons why he was withdrawing was because he felt so different…because he couldn't share. The laptop changed all that, Alhumdulillah, and my son was smiling again.

* * *

I have to admit, astronomy was fascinating. Unlike in London, in the village the sky was clear and there was no light pollution to get in the way at night. Ishy made me a telescope but he hardly ever used one himself.

* * *

The only thing I was wary of was the chat sites. How would those people in MIT and Oxford and so on react when they found out they were talking to a 9-year-old? How would those aalims and scholars react when they found out they were talking to a 9-year-old?

* * *

Learning alongside Ishy was an amazing experience, but before long he was talking about things I just couldn't understand. None of us kids could. But he had the laptop, so his knowledge-quest was provided for.

He was still a kid, of course, and loved to come exploring with us. 'There's only so much you can learn from books and the screen,' he used to say. There was one time that scared us, though. I still have nightmares about it. If Kamran hadn't figured out what was happening…

It was nearly the end of my year there and a group of us were going camping, but we were incorporating plant and geology studies – whenever we protested studying Ishy would always remind us that the Prophet (peace be upon him) had said that we should seek knowledge, even if it meant travelling to somewhere as far away as China (of course, that was from Arabia whereas for us China was only over the border). That it was incumbent upon us as Muslims to learn, discover, share and explore. Didn't matter to him that some of us were only 9, going on 10 years old. The older kids, like Asad, Jawad, and Kamran didn't seem to mind – I'm pretty sure they were going to use the study for extra credit of some kind.

A month or so before this trip, Ishy had made each of us a small box from some kind of lead alloy that he had put together using spent shells, or something. 'Memory boxes', he had called them. I think they were mainly for those of us who were going to be leaving in a few weeks, with the holidays coming to an end.

Ishy, tireless Ishy, laughing Ishy, encouraging Ishy…stumbled, looked confused, stumbled a little more, and then collapsed.

* * *

Ishmail had never been sick. Never. He never even suffered an insect bite. Yes, he once broke his arm, but he quickly healed. For almost a week, though, he lay in bed with a fever Nadia said would have killed a grown man. Every mother hates seeing their child ill. The helplessness that wraps around your heart when all you want to do is take away whatever is afflicting your child and cast it away…every mother hates it.

We couldn't sleep. We took turns to cool him but it just didn't seem to be enough.

Some of the villagers wondered why Nadia wasn't taking Ishmail to the hospital – it was a three-hour drive away but they had facilities we didn't – but Nadia insisted Ishmail remain in the village. She's a doctor so there wasn't any resistance to that, but Yusuf and I realised that…well, that Nadia knew that Ishmail was different.

* * *

We were an hour or so's walk from the village, and we were scared. Ishy was sweating and his breathing was getting shallower. We didn't have mobile phones back then, even those in the village who had them had poor signal reception and out here…out here the phone would be useless.

We gave him water and tried to make him comfortable, but he was getting hotter and hotter. Jawad was already running back to the village to get help, and Asad kept checking him over for injuries. It wasn't making any sense, and his skin was turning green.

As far as I know, Kamran doesn't know what drew him to that part of the undergrowth, but when he stepped closer to us Ishy had a sudden convulsion, his jaw clenched and body arching. Kamran stopped and stepped back, and Ishy seemed to relax, shuddering as his muscles loosened again. Kamran opened his hands and there was a small, glowing, green rock.

While Asad continued to tend to Ishy, the rest of us began looking for more of these rocks as quickly as we could. We concluded that the rock was radioactive and harming Ishy, but we didn't know how susceptible any of us would be.

We collected 42 of those glowing rocks, enough to fill two rucksacks, and then Kamran walked away with them. He came back a while later covered in dirt, his hands bleeding, and sat with us as we continued to watch over Ishy.

* * *

We heard the breathless shouts before we saw Jawad. We had been preparing for the upcoming birthday/farewell party and didn't expect the children to be back for at least a day. There was a moment of panic when we saw him and some of the men rushed out with their guns.

With ragged breath, Jawad explained what had happened and, after I convinced Asiyah to stay behind, Jawad, Imran, Nadia and I got in a jeep and headed out.

* * *

I've no idea what Aunty Nadia was whispering to Ishmail as she checked over him. She told us to stay away from him as she examined him, he was burning up so much it was almost as if he was actually on fire. Finally, after what seemed like hours but was probably barely minutes, she instructed us to lay him in the stretcher and put him in the jeep.

We watched them drive off, and all of us were thinking the same thing: our little Haadi was dying.

* * *

I had known for a long time that Ishmail was different – that, outwardly, he looked like us, but he was different. It didn't change anything, though, he was Ishmail and you couldn't help but love him. When Imran and the others told me of some of the things Ishmail had learned and observed; when Salman kept saying that Ishmail was a 'genius'; when I saw him walk through hot embers as he was engrossed in a book…I knew he was more special than I realised, and I knew I had to do whatever I could to help him.

That day, though, when I could feel the heat coming off him in waves as he lay there in a coma…that was one of the most frightening days of my life. I honestly thought we were going to lose him. I couldn't look Lubna in the eye and tell her he was going to be okay.

When I gave him the injection and saw Aunty and Uncle flinch, I realised that they weren't expecting the needle to go in. It was a strange thing to realise, and quite a difficult one to explain. I've seen the anxious looks on the faces of parents as I'm treating their children, that glimmer of hope when an injection is being administered or readings are being checked. Aunty and Uncle didn't have that look. Theirs was one of fear. It wasn't fear for Ishmail – that was more than apparent – but a fear for the needle, a fear of the needle, and a fear of what it was going to reveal. When the needle went in, the fear changed again…to one of a fear of the unknown.

I ushered everyone else out of the house and, when it was just the four of us, we talked and prayed, and held vigil.

* * *

'Rabil aalameen'.

Over and over again, Kamran would whisper it as we hurried back to the village.

Junaid, a year younger than Kamran but a lot taller, trudged alongside him. This was his first visit to the village and he didn't know Ishmail the way Kamran did. Junaid and Kamran were cousins and were very close, but Kamran's affection and admiration for Ishmail seemed to grate against Junaid.

'The kid's going to be fine, bro,' he said after a little while.

'He's never been sick.'

'C'mon, that's-'

'Never. I know you don't know him, I know you don't like him-'

'Hey, that's-'

'Ishy's special. I know you think he's weird, but he's special.'

'He  _is_  weird,' mumbled Junaid. 'I still don't know how he knew I smoked; I didn't even bring any with me.'

I went on ahead to help Asad in trying to keep Lubna and the other kids' spirits up, reminding them of the party and assuring them that Ishy was going to be fine. Some of the younger kids barely knew him, but they knew him to be fun and hard to catch in a game of tag. A couple of them had been ill, which was the norm for most visitors, but none of them, or us, had ever seen anything like it. One of them whispered, 'what if it was a djinn', and I think that got the others thinking.

* * *

When the kids arrived back in the village, emotionally exhausted, seeing everyone standing solemnly outside Aunty and Uncle's house really got to them. The fear and panic I saw in their eyes…it was unnerving. It took a while to reassure them, to explain that if Nadia felt it best to take Ishy to the hospital then she would have, that we were only outside for support.

I noticed Kamran standing to the back of the group – he was the oldest of the kids and knew Ishy the longest. He had been there the day he had been born. He had been one of the first to run into the village with the news of the cart's return, and among the first to hold him. Lubna tugged at my kameez and told me, 'Mum should take a look at Kamran bhai's hands.' I went over to him and quietly pulled his right hand out from behind his back. The skin was torn and bloodied and the nails were broken and caked in dirt.

Nadia came out of the house to reassure everyone and I signalled to her to tend to Kamran.

* * *

'You have to save him, Bhaji,' Kamran whispered to me as I cleaned his hands.

'I'm trying, Kamu,' I whispered back, wincing inside when I saw the damage to his nails.

'You know, don't you? You know he's not like us, don't you, Bhaji? You don't have to say anything…'

I had let go of his hands. I was so confused, and so scared. What Aunty and Uncle had told me sounded so impossible, so crazy…

'Rabil aalameen, Bhaji, Rabil aalameen.'

I laughed, softly, as a 17 year old reassured me about the Majesty of our Creator. I listened carefully as he told me about the green rocks, and why his hands were in this state, and I wept as I realised the love he had for his little brother.

* * *

After three days our noor woke up. His colour had started to return but his eyes were bloodshot, and his body weak and still feverish. Hearing him whisper 'Amma' and then 'Abu'…

The village had been so grey and quiet, but when I came out to tell them the news, it was like life had returned. I saw Kamran wipe tears from his eyes with his bandaged hands before he ran to the masjid shouting 'Allahu Akbar'. I saw Lubna kneel on the floor and make du'a, and I saw many people hug each other in joy.

I'm not ashamed to say that my beard had not been so wet in a long, long time.

* * *

I knew he was definitely a lot better when the needle broke. The relief in his eyes when he saw there was no fear in mine when it happened…Ya Allah, I cried. He had been so alone and hidden himself for so long…the comfort of having a small amount of that pressure eased came off him in waves. I ruffled his hair and kissed his forehead, and then realised there was more comfort he could be given if he spoke to Kamran.

* * *

Was it an awkward conversation? Maybe for him, but certainly not for me.  _He_  was the reason I came back to the village a couple of times a year, every year. It's easy to say he's my brother, I always felt we had a bond from the moment I first saw him, and I truly do mean it when I call him 'my brother'.

Only a few of us had been awake on the night of the meteor shower – generally, after Isha, everyone turned in for the night. The electrical grid out here is really haphazard, even now, so most of the villagers relied on their own generators and avoided overusing them. I couldn't sleep that night, I was so excited for Uncle and Aunty, and so full of hope, so I went up to the roof and watched the sky, and prayed in my childish, hopeful way.

I wasn't scared as the flaming rocks fell from the sky, I was fascinated. I had seen things like it on television but this was real life and was really happening. The light and flames and rumbles.

It was awesome!

When Uncle and Aunty returned, everyone was happy. It was a huge moment. What threw me, though, was seeing Uncle sneak out that night with Murtajiz tied to the cart. I couldn't understand why he'd need the horse and cart at that time, and curiosity got the better of me and I sneaked on and hid under a tarp.

Uncle was reciting Sura Tawbah as he rode and I almost fell asleep as I listened to his melodic voice. I fought against it, though, and finally we arrived at wherever it was that he was going.

'Murtajiz, mere yaar (my friend), this is quite a problem Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala has set before me. Yet, He doesn't give anyone a burden more than what they can handle, which means I must be able to handle this, right, dost?' Uncle smiled as Murtajiz lowered his head. They had a good rapport, horse and master, but it still seemed strange that he was talking to him.

As he stepped into the ditch I pulled myself up in order to look over the edge of the cart, and I stared in shock…at a spaceship!

I don't think anyone realised, but when I first held Ishy the next day I actually checked if he had a tail – you know, because of the spaceship..?

Never mind, it's a DB-reference.

Anyway, the ship is quite large but shorter in length than the cart, and Uncle prodded at it to test how stuck it was and then crouched down and said, 'Bismillah' and…up it went, like it weighed nothing.

So there I was, cowering at the back of the cart as Uncle moved the ship onto it, and a small piece fell into my lap. Under the moonlight, it looked like a fifty-pence piece-shaped paperweight. Strange as it may sound, it seemed to hum. It felt warm and comforting, and as Uncle pulled the tarp over the ship, and over me, it glowed, highlighting the markings etched into it.

I didn't tell anyone about the piece, or the ship, or the barn he hid it in, or that he later moved it (I went to check on it) or anything, but I knew I was in on one of the greatest stories this world was ever going to see or hear, and I knew enough at that age to know that it had to be kept secret.

Maybe that's why I was so protective of him in the early years. I didn't molly-coddle him or anything like that, but I kept an eye out in case he did anything to draw attention. Of course, things happen as they're meant to happen, so although I berated myself for a long time when he broke his arm, I knew, eventually, that it was all part of the Plan.

When I told him all this, and when I showed him the piece I had hidden, he told me to go get Uncle, Aunty and Bhaji. When we were all with him, alone, he took the piece from my hand and it sang and glowed bright, and he smiled. The light filled the room and I squinted through the light and saw two figures and heard strange words. As the light faded, Ishy smiled some more and said:

'My birth name is Kal-El, but I think I prefer pronouncing it Khalil…'

* * *

Ishy was still too weak to leave his room, but he was getting stronger and I assured everyone he would be well enough to attend the party. The kids were all upset when I said they needed to let him rest, and even more so (although I think 'outrage' is the more suitable word) when I told them that only Kamran could spend time with him. Oooh, the look in Lubna's eyes…

I had a blue sherwani with dark blue embroidery on the chest and on parts of the arms made for him, and matched it with a red scarf. I know Aunty liked it.

On the day of the party, Kamran fetched Lubna for him so that Ishy could give her his present in private. I knew it was a book of some kind, but didn't know what was in it. Aunty told me that Ishy had put it together a couple of months ago and that she had helped him with the binding and some of the weaving, but other than that she didn't know what was in it either.

Lubna walked out of the house, struggling a little with the green cloth wrapped present and refusing Kamran's offers to help.

The village smelled of food and people rushed around setting up tables and arranging the screen and projector for later.

There was a rumbling sound, and it got louder and louder, and then there were whoops and cheers and yells from outside the village wall and the large blue gate flew open.

* * *

Then that day changed and became 'hell on Earth'.

Hard as it may be to believe now, back then there were groups of bandits scattered around the hills and mountains. They tended to come down in raiding parties during the wedding season or when word was about that 'bahar ke bachon', 'the children from the outside', those who had had the 'good fortune' to move abroad, were visiting.

They raided the village, and it was terrifying. Gunfire, horses neighing, people screaming, children crying, the men being beaten.

I remember seeing Lubna standing there wide-eyed and clutching the present. I remember Kamran running towards her in order to shield her. I remember the horse rearing up, encouraged by its rider, and I remember Ishmail suddenly appearing before them, his kameez flapping and torn, his feet bare, and his arms spread wide.

I remember the horse rearing back even more, in fear at Ishmail's sudden appearance, and the rider falling to the floor.

I remember him shouting 'Bas', 'stop', and his shout echoing over and over.

I remember him walking towards the surprised horsemen as he recited Ayat al-Kursi and the last ayat of Surah Baqarah.

I remember him flicking tiny, tiny stones and knocking men off their horses and creating holes in their cars.

I remember someone trying to stab Junaid with a sword, only to be flung back by something.

I remember seeing men screaming in pain and clutching their right hands as they scrambled away from the women and children they had been pawing at.

I remember them shooting at him and all of us screaming.

I remember him standing there, crying, and whispering 'bas'.

* * *

Ishmail? He was  _the_  best friend you could ever have. Funny, although sometimes his jokes were a little hard to understand – he made such obscure references. His love for learning did get a bit annoying, though, but, you know, back then we were kids and kids just want to run free, right?

Kind-hearted and with a ready smile – he often had a knowing cheekiness about him, but he was solemn, too. Seeing him that day, though, with that righteous anger…and that sorrow…I knew he was different… _more_ different…and later, I realised…something else…

* * *

We all saw what happened – I don't think anyone would be able to appreciate what it was like seeing someone you love…seeing a child…riddled with bullets. Trigger-happy AK47s.

We all saw him standing there, spent bullets lying on the floor around him, his clothes shredded, tears streaming down his bruised face.

You have to understand, we weren't afraid  _of_  him, we were afraid  _for_  him. Seeing him do what he did didn't change the fact that it was our Ishmail - the little boy in love with our deen and with this duniya. What it did mean, though, was that neither he, nor Uncle and Aunty, were safe now.

* * *

Our lives were turned upside down that day. We couldn't stay in the village anymore, not without being a danger to everyone there. Asiyah and I told everyone everything – we couldn't not tell them, it wouldn't have been right. Not anymore.

Maybe their acceptance of our fantastic story wasn't normal. Maybe their protectiveness of us, especially of Ishmail, wasn't normal. I don't know. All I  _do_  know, though, is that they stood by us, more firmly than ever before.

But we couldn't stay in the village anymore, and that realisation grieved everyone.

Nadia and Imran suggested they take Ishmail with them, initially to Islamabad where Nadia's family were, before making their way down to Karachi where I had some relatives. It was one of those 'they do this in movies' things, splitting us up to confuse those who might be after us.

For years we had been afraid that Ishmail would be taken from us…and now, for better or worse, he was.

* * *

In all the years I've known him, there is one fundamental thing he lives by:

'If you see an evil, do what you can to stop it. If you can't stop it then at least speak out about it. If you can't do that then at least hate it.'

I suppose many would say it was easy for him to live by that; I don't think it was, though. I think not being able to do things, not being able to stop certain things, saddened him more than he ever let on. At the end of the day, regardless of what he could do, he was still just a man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary
> 
> Chapter 1
> 
> Shalwar – a lower trouser-like garment worn in the Subcontinent (South Asia)
> 
> Hadith (Ahadith is plural) – sayings and traditions of Prophet Muhammad (saw)
> 
> Alhumdulillah – Praise belongs to Allah (God)
> 
> Rabil aalameen – Lord of all the worlds
> 
> Bhaji – (older) sister. Used to convey respect.
> 
> Bhai – (older) brother. Used to convey respect.
> 
> Sherwani – men's clothing often worn for special events
> 
> Mere yaar – my friend
> 
> Subhanahu wa ta'ala – Glorified and Exalted is He (God)
> 
> Khalil – friend
> 
> Ayat al-Kursi – the Verse of the Throne. A particular verse from the Qur'an
> 
> Surah – 'Chapter'. There are 114 in the Qur'an


	2. Ishy

_Translated extracts from the coded journal of Ishmail ibn Yusuf_

I know I'm different, I just don't know how…or why.

I've known since I was, well, since I was still a baby. Granted, it didn't quite sink in at the time, but the realisation was there. I'm not even supposed to be able to write, I'm only 2 years old, but I have to express my thoughts some how. Kamran Bhai has been trying to teach me to read English, and Ammi and Abu have been showing me Urdu and Arabic, but how am I supposed to tell them I can write and read and speak when the other kids are struggling? I look at the others and…and I know I'm different.

I have heard stories being told to the older kids about how Allah subhanu wa ta'ala bestows gifts and attributes on others, and maybe that's the case with me? Isa alayhis Salam spoke when he was but a newborn baby, I couldn't do that but it does make me wonder…

* * *

So there's a new person in the village: Lubna. She's so different, and always wearing pink. I have come to the conclusion that, as children, our eyes work differently and we see differently…there are colours and movements, shapes and patterns, that catch the eyes of babies and I think we lose that as we grow older. What was seen becomes unseen, or unseeable, perhaps? Do we become blinder as we age? I don't want that to happen to me, I love seeing the things I can see, I just wish I could control it.

Kamran Bhai talks to me a lot. The other day he was telling me what he had read about noor and auras. I keep wanting to talk to him openly and freely, but…

The biology book he showed me is fascinating. It explained so much about what I had been seeing, but when Kamran Bhai said 'this is how we look under our skin and the only way we can see it is by either removing the skin or with special machines', I got scared. I'm seeing things we aren't supposed to be able to see…

Maybe it was because he had been mentioning auras that Lubna's stood out more than anyone else's? When I saw her, I was in awe. The colours radiating off her. The light…

I saw the look Ammi gave me; it was the same look Ruxana Aunty gave Uncle Shakeel when she asked him if he approved the rishta she had just told him about.

* * *

My arm hurts.

It was so embarrassing falling like that.

I was hearing engine noises that I hadn't heard before so I climbed to the roof to get a better look out at the fields. In the distance I could see a small group of men digging in one of our fields. Abu would have mentioned something, so it was clear he didn't know that this was going on. As well as my hearing getting better and better, I've noticed that I can see further and further as well. My curiosity over what those men were doing got the better of me, though, and I didn't notice the ledge crumble underfoot…

The sharp snapping sound shocked me, and the dull throbbing ache was confusing, but what made me lie there after I fell was embarrassment. I remember when Kashif had tripped and fallen head first into a mound of cowpats and how everyone laughed at him for months…that's what they're going to do to me. 'Look, there's Ishy, the one who fell.'

I wanted to cry.

When Aunty Nadia ran over and checked over me, I wanted to cry even more.

I'm dreading tomorrow when the other kids see me with this cast on my arm.

I didn't like the hospital. The smells and sounds and…and the death.

Doctors and nurses ignoring patients who hadn't paid upfront…

…or had no means to pay..

Other doctors quietly and efficiently tending to patients who hadn't paid upfront…or had no means to pay…

I don't understand. Why is there this…divide? If you're able to help someone then isn't that what you should do?

Why were people  _begging_  for help and being shrugged off?

Why was that old man crying himself to sleep as his soiled bed and body was covered with flies?

Some of the doctors and nurses were rushing about, exhausted. Others were calling them 'naïve', 'idealists' and 'foolish'. Is this how people outside the village are? Do they wilfully choose not to help each other?

Ya, Allah, where is the Insaniyat?

Aunty Nadia examined me but took all the records and reports with her when we were leaving. She left a hundred thousand rupees but I don't remember her telling Uncle Imran. It was confusing, they had only asked for ten thousand and I didn't see any other patients leaving with their records.

Seeing her quietly help some of the patients sitting in the corridors as we were leaving, though… _that's_  how we are supposed to be. I'm sure of it. Watching her as Uncle Imran held me…I want to be like her…

Pretending to be asleep during the drive back to the village, I replayed the sounds and sights at the hospital and tried to understand the various smells. Copper and urine, burning flesh and faeces, pus and rotting meat, disinfectants and so many other scents.

The world away from the village is so different.

When Abu slaughters a chicken for dinner, he's careful and respectful. In the village, people share; they come together, and they help. Out there…out there I saw people quickly walk away from those who need help. Out there…I hardly heard anyone even make du'a for those in need.

* * *

Things really didn't go the way I expected. There was no joking about the fall, only concern. Is it because my arm was broken or because there was no cowpat involved?

I think Aunty Nadia knows something about me. I'm not sure what, though.

* * *

'Ishy, I know this is probably hard for you to believe, but I just thought you should know that there are some children out there who are hafiz by the age of the 3,' said Kamran Bhai as he ruffled my hair. 'I'm not saying you should be like them, every one is different, I'm just saying that, well, just because some of the other kids in the village can't do something that doesn't mean you shouldn't.'

Hafiz by three! Mashallah! I've been, secretly, a hafiz since I was a little over a year old. Listening to Ammi and Abu and some of the others in the village, I learned it by heart. I don't know the meanings yet, only what little I've been told by Kamran Bhai and Abu, but I can recite it. Only in one qirat at the moment – there's no one here to teach me any of the others.

Kamran Bhai had brought some books with him – they were children's books by an English author and certain things struck a chord with me. In one, for example, there is a passage that says:

_'A person who has good thoughts cannot ever be ugly. You can have a wonky nose and a crooked mouth and a double chin and stick-out teeth, but if you have good thoughts they will shine out of your face like sunbeams and you will always look lovely.'_

In another, and one which I feel draws me to books in general, there was a passage that said:

_'So Matilda's strong young mind continued to grow, nurtured by the voices of all those authors who had sent their books out into the world like ships on the sea. These books gave Matilda a hopeful and comforting message: You are not alone.'_

Is this why Kamran Bhai brought these books for me? Is this why he's encouraging me?

* * *

I can see plant cells.

I can see Abu and Ammi's cells.

I can see my cells.

At least…I think I can. Sometimes.

Maybe it's just my imagination?

I'm different. I don't know how to explain it. The books Kamran Bhai left behind are too…basic. Oh, Matilda, how I envy you so. Your hunger for knowledge was provided for, your thirst quenched, and here I am 'woeing' and grieving and suffering.

* * *

I tried to move things with my mind today. It was my first day at school and I was so bored. Urdu alphabet? Seriously?

I didn't move anything but…I set a textbook on fire.

* * *

Note to self: mind your surroundings.

I've never seen Abu look so scared before –  _I've_ never been so scared before. It's no excuse, but I was lost in thought and observation. School has been so dull that, as you know, I've just been observing the world and making notes about what I see and understand. There's so much out there…so much to learn…no wonder Allah subhanu wa ta'ala keeps instructing us to observe.

School has been so frustrating, so slow…I had gone on ahead without the others…I just…had a lot to think about. I've memorised all the books Kamran Bhai had left behind and I keep reviewing them in my head, and there's nothing for me to learn at school. I can tell I'm making the teachers uncomfortable. At the moment we only have one teacher for the class I'm in – I understand the approach since we're all so young but I'm beyond what she has chosen (and trained) to teach. I'm not saying she's stupid, far from it. She's really smart, and, in way, I feel a lot more like Matilda because of her. I can see her excitement at teaching me more, but I can see her concern, too, that she may not be 'enough'.

The other kids don't like it – the ones from the other villages. Frankly, some of them have been spoiled and lied to. Maybe it's misguided love from their parents (does that sound 'cold' or 'harsh'?), telling them how smart they are and how 'right' they are. A lot of them talk nonsense and can't stand to be corrected. I'm not sure, yet, what this means with regards to the current education system – for all I know, it could just a rural thing and not something the urban school systems have. Kamran Bhai, for example, is clearly open to being corrected and learning more, and he's from London, so it's certainly not a 'universal' thing. It is disturbing, though. Superstitions and untruths being put forward as fact.

Oh, and the threatening of violence. I don't understand it. Why threaten to harm someone when you can't handle being wrong?

And then the bull trampled me.

First it rammed into my back and sent me flying a dozen feet deeper into the field. As I landed, my trousers tore and my hands scraped across the earth. I looked at my palms quickly, expecting to see torn skin because that's what happens when one of the others falls when we're chasing each other. But there was just dirt.

Then it slammed me into the ground and its left horn tore into my jacket and suddenly I was being shaken in the air. Within seconds the jacket tore loose of the horn, but as I fell again I was hit by one of its hooves. And it stamped and stamped and stamped.

I'm still trying to rationalise this, but…a bull can't hurt me.

* * *

_'We're going to have to tell him soon.'_

_'No.'_

_'Jaan, we have to.'_

_'He's too young. One more year.'_

I should tell Abu and Ammi that I know. I know I'm not their son. I know I'm not…human.

* * *

My eyes are cursed. That must be it. For three hours today, I could see through things and everyone was naked. Forget the incident with the bull, mere dost,  _this_  is the scariest thing to happen to me! We're not supposed to be able to see through clothes and buildings.

I dismissed it a few weeks ago when I concluded it was just my memory and I was maybe confusing things, but now there's no denying it. I can see  _through_  things. It's freaking me out.

I know I've seen through skin before, but I…suppressed it. I know I have some kind of zoom or microscopic vision, and I love being able to do that, but…seeing through.

It was okay when I was younger, when I could see, briefly, through skin and muscle…but this….

It's 'off' now but for hours I kept flashing between seeing through just clothing through seeing through  _everything_.

I'm curious as to how it works…is it tied to the penetration of electromagnetic radiation and my eyes are able to see wavelengths beyond the norm? How am I to test and assess? How am I to control it so I don't see people's awrahs?

* * *

Am I some kind of djinn?

The only time I had been to a city was when Aunty Nadia took me to the hospital a few years ago. But now…

I love playing with Murtajiz - racing against him and exploring the woods. With him, I can run freely.

Today, though…today…with torn clothes and melted shoes, I ended up in Islamabad…

* * *

I'm (barely) writing this entry in a cave far from the village. There's too much noise.

Crickets.

Ants.

Birds.

Termites.

Leaves.

Trees.

People…

There's too much noise.

* * *

I've never felt so alone before. I've always been different, but I've always been able to 'fit in', too. I don't know if I can do that anymore. I know Ammi and Abu are worried, but I don't know how to explain this to them. I don't know how to explain it to anyone.

It's as if I can hear everything…or at least everything within a hundred miles.

A little while ago, the opposite happened. Sort of.

I've developed some meditative techniques and they've helped me to 'balance' things when I've had a bit of an information and sensory overload, but today I found 'silence'…and silence is terrifying.

Everything was quiet…the only thing I could hear was the blood flowing through my body.

I don't know why I can see and hear and do the things I can.

I don't know why I'm here any more…

* * *

Lubna's here, and she's not happy with me.

* * *

Alhumdulillah, things are 'normal' now. I can filter what I hear, I can focus on specific sounds…I can do so much!

Alhumdulillah, I can go home.

* * *

Ever since the incident with the bull I've been careful not to bump in to anyone. I play, but I'm 'slow' (and after running to Islamabad and back in minutes, I really have to be 'slow'). I was so distracted with being 'normal' for a while that I almost didn't see Lubna try to kick me. I probably should have caught her as she fell but I was still kind of shocked that she had tried to kick me in the first place…

* * *

I can't remember much from the days before I woke up, other than pain. Feeling every fibre of my being on fire. Pain steadily increasing to a crescendo of lightning and explosions in my vision. My brain boiling and my mind crashing through a kaleidoscope of memories and pseudo-memories (there were faces I couldn't recognise…they must have been created by my fever).

When I woke up, I couldn't move. I gave thanks, though, that I had been allowed to wake up, but I was fearful of what it all meant.

I was told that I stumbled a few times, and that I collapsed, but I don't remember any of that.

* * *

My abilities, along with my strength, are beginning to return….but Lubna and the others are going to be leaving soon. I am looking forward to the party – I've seen the sherwani Aunty Nadia has had made for me (couldn't help it) – but I really don't want them to go.

I really hope she likes the present – and I hope everyone kept the boxes I had made for them, I should really ask about that.

* * *

It was the scent that I noticed first – horses. A lot of them. Layered beyond them was the oil and grease and metal and rust of vehicles. Layered beyond them, and what particularly caught my attention, was gunpowder.

The rush of adrenaline kicked off my vision and hearing, and among the rumble of the hooves and the engines was the muttering of the bandits. I was still weak, though, much to my horror as my legs gave out as I tried to leave the bed.

Fear had caught my voice, and through the closed door I could see and hear Lubna refusing Kamran Bhai's help to carry her present. I could see them and hear them but I couldn't call to them.

I couldn't tell them to run.

I couldn't tell them to hide.

I could feel waves of heat pulse from my hands, warming the cool tiles of the floor. My fever was returning. My neck screamed in protest as I tried to raise my head. My body shook as I tried to push myself up and stand.

The voices muffled by bandanas, shawls and balaclavas were slightly familiar – I had heard them when I had spent those days in the cave. I heard one growl that 'Doctor Madam' was to be his.

I heard a lot of other things.

I know barely seconds passed by but it felt like years before I was able to turn my head towards to the village gate. My vision tore away at the layers of brick and wood that obscured me from seeing the raiding party, and for a moment I both panicked about and wanted my heat vision to work.

Everything seemed to move slowly but I knew it was merely my perceptions had sped up. That awareness, however, did nothing to counter my frustration as I struggled to stand, so I made dua.

Last week, I could have moved everyone out of the village before the first raider had been in sight of the gate. Screams of terror tore through me and I saw Uncle Zaheer fall from a ladder. I saw Kamran Bhai try to cover Lubna as a horse and rider barrelled towards them. I saw fingers pull on triggers and tug on reins. I saw the earth being kicked up by pounding hooves and churned by rotating wheels.

I moved, and my clothes tore in protest.

The horse reared up, neighing in terror, and its rider, unprepared, fell to the ground and had the wind knocked out of him.

Walls cracked and splintered, windows shattered, and the earth shook as I channelled my energies and shouted.

The pause was what I needed as I prayed for my abilities to last long enough to save everyone. I was thankful that the raiders had only shot in to the air and that my shout had unnerved them enough for me to position myself better.

_"Allah! There is no god but He - the Living, The Self-subsisting, Eternal. No slumber can seize Him, nor Sleep. His are all things in the heavens and on earth. Who is there can intercede in His presence except as He permits them? He knows what (appears to His creatures as) before or after or behind them. Nor shall they compass even a small amount of His knowledge except as He wills. His throne extends over the heavens and the earth, and He feels no fatigue in guarding and preserving them, for He is the Most High. The Supreme (in glory)."_

I recited the verse as I flicked small stones at the raiders and the horses – the flicks were much softer on the horses as I merely wanted to encourage them to move, but on the raiders the stones would, at the very least, bruise very deeply. Disarming those with guns was of utmost importance – without their weapons they could be overpowered but with them they put every villager at risk.

To one side, I saw Junaid Bhai try to protect his mother and sister from two raiders. To the side, a third raider lunged at him with his sword. In less than a heartbeat I rushed at the raider and pulled him away from Junaid Bhai. I think my disappearing from the line of sight gave some of the disarmed raiders some form of courage. As I tried to figure out where to position myself I saw some of them reach for their fallen guns.

May Allah forgive me, I used my heat vision to burn their hands.

The smell of scalding flesh made me feel ill, but I didn't know what else I could do at the time.

While some screamed, others cursed and raged, and as they called on God to help them…I raged. These… _people_  had come to terrify and plunder and do evil, and here they were asking Him for help in doing these things.

As I stepped out to confront them again, as I stood their waiting for them to notice me, my fever wracked through me again, and I stumbled. I was deafened for a few moments as my hearing flitted through a range of frequencies; I was blinded as my vision seemed to collapse in on itself and then expand beyond what I had ever seen before.

My head snapped back as bullets hit it.

In that moment I knew, as weak as I was, one of my gifts was that, well, nothing short of an exploding shell would pierce my skin.

_Allah burdens not a person beyond his scope. He gets reward for that (good) which he has earned, and he is punished for that (evil) which he has earned. "Our Lord! Punish us not if we forget or fall into error, our Lord!"_

I'm not ashamed to admit it, but as recited the ayat…as they shot me with bullet after bullet after bullet…

I cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary
> 
> Chapter 2
> 
> Ammi – Mother
> 
> Abu – Father
> 
> Isa – Jesus (as)
> 
> Alayhis Salam – Peace be upon him – used when a Prophet is referred to by name
> 
> Noor – light
> 
> Insaniyat – humanity
> 
> Rishta – relationship. Often used when arranging or proposing to arrange a marriage
> 
> Du'a/dua – a prayer/supplication
> 
> Mashallah – 'What Allah wishes' and indicates a good omen or result (for example, you get an 'A' in a test and your mother says 'Mashallah')
> 
> Qirat – a way of reciting the Qur'an
> 
> Jaan – life. Here it is used as a term of affection towards a loved one
> 
> Ayat – verse (of the Qur'an)


	3. A new world

_Translated extracts from the coded journal of Ishmail ibn Yusuf_

I've avoided writing about this for a while as I've needed time to process it all, but I guess I'm ready now.

It was the most exciting and frightening moment of my life at that point, but I didn't want to experience it alone. When Kamran Bhai told me about the ship that brought me to Earth and about the piece that had fallen from me, and when he showed me the small piece and it called to me…I knew I was going to get some answers to the questions I had had for most of my life.

I was afraid of the answers – who wouldn't be?

I was afraid, and I didn't want to be alone when those questions were answered.

\- Who am I?

\- Where did I come from?

\- Why am I here?

\- How am I able to do the things I can do?

For years, my answers to those questions had been:

\- Ishmail ibn Yusuf

\- From somewhere in God's vast creation

\- To worship Him and be a 'good' person

\- By His Permission

Until Kamran Bhai told me about what he knew I had believed these answers to be enough. Now…they weren't.

And I was afraid.

I was still quite weak after the exposure to…whatever it was. Kamran Bhai described it as 'a glowing green mineral'. It was strange; I had thought that I had explored almost every inch of land around the village but I don't recall ever coming across an area that had affected me in such a way. I had been in that area before, too, on numerous occasions…perhaps it was a result of storms washing away whatever had covered these rocks before..?

But there is something out there that can stop me, Alhumdulillah. After everything I've been through growing up, discovering the things I can do – with these powers and abilities far beyond those of normal men – it's quite humbling to know a small piece of rock can stop me.

I'm avoiding the reason why I'm writing this…

When Kamran Bhai returned with Mum, Dad, and Aunty Nadia, I honestly thought my heart was going to burst out of my chest. I knew each of them knew I was different, and I knew they all accepted that and loved me regardless, but we were probably going to find out exactly how different I really was…and I was afraid that they wouldn't love me any more…

Kamran Bhai quietly held out the small metallic piece of the ship, and even from his hand I could feel it calling to me. As I reached out, it rose from his hand, hovered, and then glided to mine. Mum and Dad held each other, watching nervously. As weak as my senses were I could detect the fear, but it wasn't 'fear' fear…it was some other kind of fear. Aunty Nadia watched, mouth agape, tugging and twisting her dupatta, and from her and Kamran Bhai it wasn't fear I could see but excitement.

Maybe all of us were looking for answers, and maybe that's why it felt so right to have them all there with me.

And then…

Contact.

Warmth.

Sound.

A strange language.

Voices.

Male and female. In unison. In my head.

_Our son._

_It may be that this basic message of ours never reaches you. It may be that rather than safety and life you, too, have had to embrace death and these, our last words to you, become lost._

Then just the female:

_My little Kal-El. My child of the stars. As I record this, you are lying in my arms…asleep. Tears flow down my cheeks but I am careful they do not fall on your face, even though I wish they would and would briefly be part of you._

Then the male:

_For years, I have tried to convince the Council of Elders to listen to reason, to accept my conclusions and to save our people. For years, they have rejected me._

_Thousands upon thousands of years ago, it was written in the Book of Rao that we, our people, could reach the stars and beyond and, for thousands of years, we did. But then we stopped and the knowledge and ability was seemingly no longer ours and we remained here, content…and slowly being consumed with pride and arrogance._

Then the female again:

_There are tales and myths of Kryp and Ton being cast on to our planet and striving and struggling to survive. Some say it was a punishment from Rao, others that it was to encourage humility and awareness, and others that it was all part of a grand experiment._

_I wish I could see you as I tell you these stories, see your eyes widen in wonder, your mouth agape, and your breath caught._

_I wish I could tell you about our sun and our moons and show you the stars and teach you and watch you…_

And then the male again:

_For years, I looked to the stars and sought a way to save our people. I knew that out there there was hope, and it was that hope that kept me going, and that hope that…that is giving me the strength to do what others would most certainly consider to be an act of madness._

_I love you, Kal._

_I've loved from the moment your mother whispered to me about you._

_Everything I have done from that moment has been because I love you._

_At any moments of weakness and doubt that I had, your mother gave me the strength to continue. Her faith in me, and her love for you, nourished me._

And then the female, my mother:

_If you do hear this message, if you are able to ever see this recording, I just want you to know, beyond any and all doubt, that you mean everything to me. To us. Every thing._

And then the male, my father:

_Within the ship, and laced throughout it, just as every cell of your body contains the information that is you, we have placed the knowledge of our home…and we have explained why we couldn't join you. We…felt it best that you learn about that in full rather than through…abbreviations._

_If…if you ever hear this._

_But there are gifts we wish to bestow on you. The first, the languages of our home…_

And then my mother:

_And the second, our history as told through the Book of Rao and the books of the historians._

My father:

_These are the first things the babies of our home are taught, before the science and the logics and analysis of the wonders of the multiverse._

My mother:

_They used to be taught through tears and kisses, with words and actions awakening them as a child grew; but, as much as I wish to bestow them on you as you sleep in my arms, you are not ready. An ancient way, the way of an era long gone, from a vast period of war and death…when many a father would never have the chance to see their child, when many a mother knew she would die soon after giving birth…we convey our essence and truth to you._

Together:

_The sunstone you now hold contains all that is us at the time of our holding it. Any fears and doubts that we might experience afterwards, you will never know, but, as you hold it right now, you will know, with absolute certainty, that we love you._

_When you are ready, you will learn more. Your heritage, our son, is vast, and though you may resent us for not being there with you, we hope you will forgive us in time._

After that, there was a flood of information, but barely any time to process it. All of this took place in a mere moment, but it felt like so much more.

* * *

Throughout the journey, from the village to Islamabad and then from there to Karachi, I was quiet.

I was guilty.

I had ruined everything.

Because of me, my parents had been torn away from their home.

Because of me, the other villagers were at risk from the almost certain revenge of the bandits.

Because of me, Aunty Nadia and Uncle Imran were risking their lives.

Because of me, Lubna…almost died.

* * *

'As awesome as you are, Ishy – and you are awesome, we all agree on that and there's no use in you denying it – as awesome as you are, you can be an idiot at times,' said Kamran Bhai after he closed the door to the small house in Karachi.

Abu's second cousin's son-in-law had allowed us to use one of his properties. It had been empty for a couple of years after a series of bombings in the area led to an exodus of some of those who used to live there, and the air inside was thick with dust. I quietly checked everyone's lungs.

'Kamu…'

'Bhaji, it  _has_  to be said, otherwise he'll just…wallow in it.'

'What has to be said, Kamu Beta?' asked Abu.

'That none of this is his fault. If he hadn't been there, Allah only knows what would have happened to everyone in the village.'

I tried to interject.

'Yes, we've had to leave, but those who are left behind are not in danger, and certainly not because of you.

'Ishy, mere bhai, if you hadn't acted people would have died. It's really that simple. No, it is. Very simple. The people who attacked the village are burdened with superstitions and cowardice. They heard the ayats and they saw the results of their actions. We all saw. The village is protected now, even with you not being there.

'I promise you.'

'But-'

'"When we wallow in guilt, remorse, and shame over real or imagined sins of the past, we are disdaining God's gift of grace."'

'That's not fair, Bhaiya.'

'But it's true, and you know it to be.'

* * *

Life in Karachi is…different. Chaotic at times, but also quite nice, too; it's the new experiences and sights that fascinate me.

Until coming here, I had never come across a  _hijra_  before. Sure, I had (over)heard about them, and understood they had certain roles at weddings and so forth, but to find so many…

…and to…(over)hear some of the abuses and transgressions they experience…

I'm trying hard to be patient and not draw attention to myself, but the longer we stay here the angrier I feel.

There is so much wrong.

There is so much noise.

There are so many different smells.

The self-training over the past few years has been an immense help, but that was in a village…this…this is the third largest city in the world, and for the first week we were here, I had to hide.

I'm learning to close off more and more of what is around me…

* * *

Aunty Nadia, Uncle Imran, and Lubna have gone back to their home. Lubna said she'll keep in touch, but I don't know if she will. I know she's still afraid…of me…

Sometimes she touched my face where the bruises from the bullets were, and then shook her head and cried.

Ever since the attack, she had barely spoken to me.

I miss her.

Kamran Bhai decided to stay with us for a while. I think he's hoping that things can be arranged so that he can take us to London, but I've already caused such upheaval in everyone's lives I don't think we should do something like that.

* * *

In order to be more productive in our use of time, Kamran Bhai has enrolled the two of us in a nearby Madrassa. There are Hifz and Aalim classes, as well as Tajweed and, further down the line, Qirat classes, too. Suffice to say, I'm very, very excited.

* * *

The past two months have been amazing. I'm in awe of my teachers and their knowledge, and I'm so grateful they keep telling me not to hold back. Their backgrounds are quite mixed, but all have been to the most highly regarded institutions – Madinah, Al Azhar, and so on – and I've learned so much with him, Alhumdulillah.

There is a Hifz and Tajweed competition coming up and Mum and Dad have said I can take part in it. Maybe this is why we had to leave the village, so I could learn and become better?

* * *

This is a very childish admission, but when my infra-red vision first kicked in, I couldn't help but laugh. A few years after the incident I learned of the acronym 'SBD', and the term that it refers to. The time when my infra-red vision first kicked in is a happy memory. A childish one, but a happy one.

I'm grateful, though, that I already had control over my enhanced olfactory perception…

* * *

I know it's common.

I know it wasn't my place to step in.

But I cannot stand by. I can't. It's not right.

I know I've made things worse, but he had no right to hit that boy.

* * *

We had a long talk today, the four of us. They agree with me that there is a right and a wrong in the universe and that that distinction is not necessarily hard to make, but we disagree on when it is okay to step up and intervene.

I can't accept that I'm 'different' and that's why I've never had to be disciplined or punished. I've seen how some are 'punished' just because – that, without even doing anything wrong, they are beaten and hurt. Not just children but adults, too.

I've seen how those who consider themselves 'better' literally kick at those 'beneath' them. How many cast the blame of some mishap onto some unfortunate.

It's not right.

This is a city of more than 23 million, but, as far as I'm concerned, not all of them are people.

'Be careful, Ishy…you might end up a vigilante…' whispered Kamran Bhai.

'If you see an evil, do what you can to stop it. If you can't stop it then at least speak out about it. If you can't do that then at least hate it.'

I know, on a base level, it's easy for me to say that. Physically, there's almost nothing anyone can do to me, but who am I to intervene? What do I stop and what do I ignore? Is the child being struck more important than the woman being stalked? Is the beggar being abused more important than the grain being measured out falsely?

For weeks I hear my teachers speaking out about these things, advising the students to stand up, but outside the school it just seems to get worse. I open my senses and hear the screams of someone being raped; I smell the blood of someone being pelted with stones because they're in the wrong place at the wrong time; the cries of the hungry children as the wealthy overindulge in the restaurants.

There is a right and a wrong in the universe and that distinction is not hard to make.

Maybe this is why I'm here? Maybe this is why I had to leave the village.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary
> 
> Chapter 3
> 
> Dupatta – a thin scarf worn by women in (and from) the Subcontinent
> 
> Beta – son
> 
> Bhaiya – more affectionate way of saying Bhai (brother)
> 
> Hijra – term used in the Subcontinent culture to refer to physiological males who have a feminine gender identity
> 
> Madrassa – school where the Qur'an and Islam are taught
> 
> Hifz – memorising the Qur'an
> 
> Tajweed – pronouncing the words of the Qur'an (this is different to 'Qirat')
> 
> Aalim – (Islamic) knowledge: hadith, sunnah (practices of the Prophet (saw)), fiqh (laws) and so forth


	4. Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Author's note: I've never been to Karachi, so apologies to any who take issue with any of the (brief) descriptions used)

George Taylor (Karachi (AP))

Over the past few weeks, there has been a growing unease in certain parts of Karachi, but there has also been a steadily relaxed air, too. Much to the chagrin of certain folk, women have begun to venture out more. The statistics are skewed, but there are reports that the number of murders per day has dropped significantly and, more so, there has been an increase in the number of reported attempted rapes.

It's an odd one, I'm sure the readers will agree, that it is  _attempts_  that are being reported but the reason for this, according to police sources, is because the would-be rapists have been found pinned to the ground or against a wall, a couple of metal poles rammed around them and preventing them from fleeing the scene. As expected, though, almost all are pleading innocence or claiming there has been some misunderstanding.

None, however, have said how they ended up in such a state, and no one in the force has released any information, either.

Last night saw an interesting incident – an imam was found pinned to the gates of the Jamia Darul 'Uloom, and hanging from his neck was a note:

_This is a man who incites others to do bad and justifies it in the Name of Allah Subhanahu wa ta'ala. Please attend to this._

Although generally hushed up by the authorities, those who were at the scene are wondering what 'bad' the imam had encouraged. At the time of writing, there has been no information forthcoming.

* * *

_'…and do good to parents, kinsfolk, orphans, the poor, the neighbour who is near of kin, the neighbour who is a stranger, the companion by your side, the wayfarer (you meet), and your servants…'_

'This verse is very straightforward and appeals to your base humanity, no? Yet these very basic things are being subverted more and more often. For example, we are naturally inclined to care for our parents, but the frustrations and expectations of certain parts of society can lead some of us to shun our parents.

'There are countless stories of those who have even  _killed_  their parents, let alone 'merely' abandoning them. It's not just a physical slaughter, though. There are many who are killed spiritually by their children, living in this world as mere wraiths. Shadows of what they once were.'

'What do you know about the hardships of life?' interrupted one of the small crowd gathered around Ishmail near a street corner. 'You're just a child who speaks with a sweet tongue. Look at you: straight and clean teeth, and no dirt on your skin. You think wearing older clothes will enable you to fit in among us?'

'I know that ' _for every burden He gives relief_ '. Often one just has to be patient.'

'Patient? Patient?! I've lived on these streets for ten years and you're telling me to be 'patient'?'

'Brother, I mean no dis-'

As the rotten food slid down Ishmail's face, the small crowd began to disperse. From across the busy road, Kamran quietly watched.

Ishmail quietly wiped his face clean and then smiled at those who had stayed.

'Shall I continue?'

They nodded.

'There are those who have rights over us…'

* * *

'Ishmail Beta?' asked a soft melodious voice. Mufti Mahmood was an old man in his 80s, but still strong and energetic. He was renowned and regarded for his humility and knowledge, and scholars from all over the world would seek him out in order to learn from him. Decades ago, just before Pakistan was 'established' he founded the school Kamran and Ishmail had been attending for the past few months. It is a simple institution with simple classrooms and boarding facilities. It holds classes in reading and memorising the Qur'an several times a day which are open to the general public, and it also has weekly tafsir sessions as well. The school itself covers a wide range of Islamic disciplines but, although Mufti Mahmood is widely recognised and honoured among the Ulema, the small school is generally below anyone's radar.

Ishmail closed the book he had been speed reading and quickly got up to attend to his teacher. Mufti Mahmood quietly walked to his room, which also functioned as his study. He had lived in this room for more than 60 years, and it contained all his worldly possessions: his books and notes. He gestured for Ishmail to sit down, but Ishmail waited until the Mufti was comfortable, helping him with his cushion and pouring a glass of water. Ishmail had never been in this room before, and was resisting the urge to glance at the hundreds of books that surrounded him.

* * *

_Extracts from George Taylor's notes_

When I was growing up in Cleveland there were the old stories about super babies in the Midwest. Fanciful stuff about babies being found in cornfields (readily explained away as cases of abandonment) and toddlers lifting up tractors. When I left and began working in different parts of the world, however, I heard of similar stories in various countries, with many ascribing them to 'phenomena' such as possession.

In the Indian Subcontinent, I've heard of stories like this across cultures and faiths…and I've seen the ramifications, too. People believing a child or woman to be possessed…and then killing them…or worse…

The reports coming in over the past couple of months, though, have been different. Rather than having to rely on hearsay, there has been tangible 'proof'. Metal twisted which should not, or could not, have been; people found pinned to walls or the sidewalk with notes for the police; a couple of frames from a CCTV camera showing a boy in a tattered sherwani.

It's those few blurry frames of footage that clinched it for me, that convinced me that this was definitely worth looking in to.

* * *

They had been seated there, silent, for more than half an hour. Despite the short time Ishmail had spent at the institute, he knew better than to speak before the Mufti had spoken – it was respect and patience. However, as silent as the Mufti was, Ishmail could hear his whispered Dhikr.

Suddenly, much to Ishmail's astonishment, the silent room was filled with the sound of a name: Allah. Eyes wide and mouth agape, Ishmail stared at the Mufti and felt a wave of panic as the Mufti clutched his chest in pain. In less than a blink of an eye, Ishmail was beside the Mufti, scanning him with his x-ray vision. The Mufti coughed and indicated that Ishmail should return to his seat. Quietly, Ishmail held out the glass of water for him. After taking three small gulps of water, the Mufti coughed again and smiled.

'I apologise for startling you like that, Beta. I have no control over it, but it happens less now than it did when I was younger.'

Ishmail smiled a little. He had heard stories of those whose remembrance of God was such that His Name was said by their very hearts, but hearing those stories and hearing the Mufti's heart are quite different things.

'Beta, these past few months I have seen you grow and change and learn and discover, Masha'Allah. Your thirst for knowledge is immense, and your aptitude seems to be even greater. Your basic knowledge surpasses almost every student we have and soon we will be reaching a crossroads.

'Before you came here, you were a Hafiz, Masha'Allah. You knew one Qirat and quickly learned another and then another. You now know seven, but your teachers are reluctant to give you Ijaza. It is not because they do not believe you to be able, but because of the burden that comes with being granted Ijaza, coupled with your young age.

'Before you came here, you knew many Ahadith, Masha'Allah. You've covered in months what usually takes others years to study. Here, with regards to Ahadith, your teachers are almost falling over each other in their eagerness to take you on as a direct student, and your aptitude may well cut down the years of intense study, but the commitment needed from you will still be there.

'I, too, have been considering taking you on as a direct student. You have the potential to be a great scholar, Insha'Allah.

'While the title has not yet been bestowed on you, I can assure you that you are an Aalim. Watching you, hearing your discussions, your use of proofs and so forth, I consider you to be an Imam, and it is here that we can see the crossroads you will soon be reaching: do you continue with your studies and specialise in your young age, or do you step back and focus on studies more directly related to the duniya, or do you use what you have right now and go out and give da'wah to the world?'

Ishmail frowned as he considered what the Mufti had said.

'Sheikh, you feel I need some worldly experience before I decide on the path I want to take?'

The Mufti nodded, and smiled.

'The commitments you would be making if you choose to take on the path of the scholar are many and many are lifelong. I know you've heard and read about past scholars, and I know you've heard about your teachers…'

The Mufti paused as he watched Ishmail glance at the books.

'Sheikh, you and others like you never married, yet marriage is a Sunnah and completes half our deen…'

'You know why, Ishmail Beta.'

'Sheikh…I am more grateful than you will ever know for what you and the teachers have given me, but there are things about me that you do not know. Things which may make you change your mind about me…'

Nervously, Ishmail raised his head and looked at the quiet Mufti. His heart beat a little faster as he felt a little fear, a fear of being rejected.

'You are not yet baligh, are you?' asked the Mufti.

'N-no. But-'

'You are of sound mind, and anything you did as a child can be…' the Mufti let his words drift as he saw the look of sadness on Ishmail's face. 'Beta, what's wrong?'

'…I think you need to speak to my parents…'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary
> 
> Jamia Darul 'Uloom – an Islamic seminary located in Karachi
> 
> Mufti – an (Sunni) Islamic scholar who is an interpreter and expounder of Islamic law
> 
> Tafsir – Quranic exegesis (interpretation)
> 
> Ulema – group of scholars
> 
> Dhikr – a devotional act that usually involves the (often silent) recitation of the Names of God and various supplications
> 
> Hafiz – one who knows the Qur'an by heart
> 
> Ijaza – permission to teach
> 
> Insha'Allah – God Willing
> 
> Duniya – this world
> 
> Da'wah – sharing/inviting to Islam
> 
> Sheikh – an honorific title for an 'elder', also used in reference to an Islamic scholar
> 
> Sunnah – a practice of the Prophet (saw)
> 
> Deen – religion
> 
> Baligh – a person who has reached maturity or puberty, and so has full responsibility under Islamic law


	5. Odyssey (part 1)

_(Kamran)_

For all intents and purposes, it was almost unheard of that Mufti Mahmood would attend the home of anyone unless that person was ill…and the whole school knew that Ishy was not ill. Don't get me wrong, the Mufti is a very, very caring man but, from what I understand, a couple of the reasons why he avoids going to people's homes, especially when invited to dinners, are because his time is limited, and he tries to avoid idle talk as much as possible.

Rumours were already spreading that the Mufti had chosen Ishy as his successor and personal student and, as I expected, and now, with him actually coming with us to see Uncle and Aunty, the reception of such 'news' was quite mixed. It's human nature, I guess, and I saw it a lot in the kids when I used to visit the village – the increasing resentment over Ishy's…well, brilliance.

I sat quietly in the back of the car with the Mufti. Neither I nor Ishy could understand the Mufti's reasoning for refusing to sit in front of Ishy – the Mufti's justification was that, as Ishy was a Hafiz (and so had the Qur'an in his heart) it would be improper for him to put his back to someone like that. The counter-argument Ishy and I raised – that since the Mufti was also a Hafiz as well as older – was merely met with a smile and some gentle stubbornness.

Ishy kept turning to give me a reassuring look, but my heart would not stop hammering. As much as I respected and revered the Mufti in the short time I had gotten to know him, Ishy's intention to tell him the truth about himself terrified me. The Mufti was an outsider. He hadn't held Ishy as a baby; he hadn't seen his curiosity and watched him learn and discover.

He hadn't seen him almost die.

I didn't realise I was doing it at the time, but according to Ishy when we talked about that day I was tugging at my kurta and began whispering prayers - my fears compelling me to do so in English.

From the corner of my eye, I saw the Mufti glance at me, frown with curiosity, and then smile. He recited the opening verses to Surah Rahman:

_The Beneficent (God)!_

_He has taught you the Qur'an (by His Mercy)_

_He created man._

_He taught him eloquent speech…_

As beautiful as the recitation was, it wasn't helping, and, frankly, I was even more afraid than when Ishy first told me what he was going to do.

* * *

_(Yusuf) (translated from the Urdu)_

I hadn't seen Asiyah so frightened since the attack in the village, and as much as we trusted Ishmail's judgment and intuition…well, we didn't know the Mufti, and Kamran's tangible apprehension really didn't make this any easier.

It had been easy for us and those in the village to accept Ishmail. For Asiyah and me, our acceptance and love for him was immediate. For the villagers, it varied, as it is wont to do. But, as Kamran kept trying to explain to Ishmail, the Mufti was an outsider…and Ishmail is a being that…is completely alien…

Maybe it was my old age that was dampening my fear, I don't know…

We had often consoled each other in the early years – that this was all part of God's plan. That we were chosen for a reason. That the burden of having a child from the stars was one that God knew we could handle. That it was our duty to raise this boy right, and do right by him.

But we had our limitations.

We lacked knowledge.

We lacked resources.

A few days before the Mufti's visit, I found a sheet of paper on Ishmail's desk. As far as I could tell the writing on there was in seventeen different languages. I could recognise the English, Urdu, and Arabic, and there were ones which looked like English so were probably French and so on, and a couple which looked like Urdu and Arabic so were probably Farsi and Pashto. That he knew all these languages just made me feel so small and stupid…and then I read what he had written in Urdu:

_'Lord, I thank you for blessing me with these parents and I pray you allow me to always honour them in everything I do.'_

I can only assume he had said the thing in the other languages he had written – when I asked him about it later he just smiled.

We had never met the Mufti before but both the boys had been…enamoured? I think that's a suitable word to describe it – there was admiration, affection, and longing. When we had moved to Karachi, Ishmail had considered applying to attend the Darul Uloom but he had also heard of Mufti Mahmood and asked us if it would be a good idea to consider attending a few of the public sessions. Learning is important; we've never denied Ishmail an opportunity to learn…but…this isn't the village…here, in this chaos, and with his hearing…

He's still a child…

How do you counter racism when so many around you are advocating it in one way or another?

Ishmail would be able to hear the derogatory remarks, the allegations and accusations…he would hear things we wouldn't be hearing, and since we wouldn't be hearing them we wouldn't be able to address them there and then.

How do you counter oppression when you have those saying that Islam doesn't oppress while at the same time, through their actions, they are oppressing others?

How do you underline that God has allowed us to believe what we want to believe and has given Islam to those who want to do the things He wants and prefers us to do when so many stamp on and mock the faiths and beliefs of others?

I'm an old man and a simple farmer and these things are not areas I can teach Ishmail about…not the way the world is now.

The village was so much safer…so much…easier…

* * *

_(Asiyah) (translated from the Urdu)_

I was losing my son, and that was all I could think about.

I know the others were terrified for his life when he was shot, but they're not his mother. I'm not belittling their pain or their fear, and I know mothers can relate and others can empathise but I truly believe that as 'similar' as each mother's fear and pain is…each one is unique.

I…I'm ashamed in saying these…these crazy…stubborn…I don't mean to sound unsympathetic…and I apologise for that, I really do.

I know that when mothers hear of tragedy they reflect on what they would do if it were to afflict them – I think it's…something inside us…inside our hearts. It's not the same as sympathy or…or when you just think about what you would do…something inside us…something…ya, Allah, I don't know. I don't know how to explain it, but something is there which…explodes these fears inside us and makes us, somehow, deal with things. I know…I know that the intuitive and protective nature that most mothers have for their children can and does spread to the protection of other children. I know I'm only a village girl, but I have eyes with which to see and God has given me a brain that, as limited as my education and understanding is, allows me to comprehend.

When Ishy fell from the roof there were several women, mothers, including Nadia, who rushed to him. It's the nature of being a mother. That's the kind of thing I'm trying to…to tell you.

When Ishy was burning with fever, his skin so hot it would blister your skin if you touched him for too long…when he was burning and…and dying…and I was helpless and powerless and no good to him…

Only mothers can immediately understand that…that self-hate sneaks into your heart and feeds on your helplessness.

I'm not belittling fathers…please, don't take my words the wrong way…

I'm not making sense, am I?

I'm sorry.

I was losing my son, and while waiting for him to arrive with the Mufti, that was all I could think about.

* * *

_(Extracted and transcribed from George Taylor's audio notes)_

I heard a story from Arshid, one of the street kids I know: apparently, a couple of the 'jaanvar' (beasts), as he calls them, were admitted to hospital recently. They, from what he had been told, had burns on their hands and near or around their groins.

These jaanvar prey on children – usually the street children but sometimes they aim…'higher'. Arshid…when I met him he had a broken leg and it was not going to set right. He was using an old dolly to get around and he told me afterwards that one of the older kids had tried to set it for him…

I actually prefer using the descriptive 'jaanvar'. I feel it conveys the nature of these non-humans quite well, and I've begun using it as a description for a range of predatory folk.

Arshid had been hit by a car that had ridden up on to the sidewalk. The driver was drunk – and as much as Pakistan considers itself a 'dry' country in light of the fact that the vast majority of its population is Muslim, there are a growing number of people who are drinking these days. It's not recreational for a lot of them, either…it's escapism, and they won't stop until the bottle is empty.

Anyway, Pakistan doesn't have the same kind of national health service in place like some countries do. If you don't have the money, then chances are you're not going to get seen to. Sure, there are the public sector regional hospitals and the infrastructure in places like Karachi are considered 'adequate', but tending to a street kid…I mean, there are volunteer hospitals and doctors and so forth – the Edhi Foundation is a great example – but, well, they're stretched to beyond their limits…

Like I said, one of his friends 'set' his leg for him and after that they just hoped for the best. I found him a couple of weeks later and even I could tell he wasn't going to be walking properly if he wasn't seen to, but the story he told me when he trusted me…

Jaanvar.

A couple of days after the accident, the driver rolled up as a passenger in a new car and his driver began making enquiries. The other street folk eventually opened up and told the driver about Arshid and they were then given a bag of medicine and some money and asked to give to him.

Sounds like a good deed, doesn't it? A way of at least trying to make amends for what had been done?

Perhaps it originally was – Arshid certainly argued with me that it must have been, his bright green eyes flashing with anger whenever the subject came up – but, well, I have my doubts. Anyway, neither the money nor the medicine made it to Arshid.

A few days later, the driver and the passenger returned and again asked about Arshid and his injuries and, again, money and medicine were handed over and, again, nothing made it to Arshid. Arshid ended up having a really bad fever and the next time the car 'made its rounds' his friend made sure he was there. He had heard about the money and the medicine and that they had not given them to Arshid, and several fights had broken out about it.

According to Arshid, his friend convinced the passenger to come and see him, 'see what he had done', and the man came and agreed to provide more medicine. He refused to take Arshid to the hospital as he didn't want word of the accident and his involvement in it getting out. Later that evening, the car returned took Arshid's friend to go get the medicine. This happened a couple more times until the fevers and sickness had passed, and then Arshid's friend…well, some say he committed suicide and others that he was killed in an accident. A few days after the funeral, the car returned and Arshid was specifically sought out.

For several weeks, Arshid was taken on 'long drives'. I met him a couple of months after the funeral as I wandered the streets to get a lay of the land and settle in to living in the city for a while. The months out in the mountains and countryside made me quite twitchy, but the flinch I saw him make when someone brushed by him…

I was looking to do a human interest piece in order to get the ball rolling as I settled in to living in Pakistan, so I introduced myself and, as expected, saw the flash of distrust in his eyes. My American accent certainly wasn't doing me any favours – something I had experienced on countless occasions in my travels – but after I offered to buy him some food from the nearby cart and assured him that we wouldn't be going anywhere, he was a little bit more amenable.

I couldn't help but eye his leg, the protrusion being quite apparent in the breeze, so I asked him about it and suggested he maybe attend one of the newly established clinics in the city. I explained that some expats had returned from the UK and the US, mainly doctors, and that they had set up clinics to help people like him.

It really wasn't easy convincing him to attend one of the clinics, but I got there eventually. Thankfully. It was a few weeks later, when he was recovering from the procedure on his leg, when I was visiting him at the clinic, that he told me about the 'jaanvars'.

…and about what his friend told him had happened to him.

It doesn't seem to matter where you go in this world, these beasts are out there…

There was nothing I could do about it, though, as Arshid refused to give me anything to go on. Any way of finding out who the driver of the car had been…and that's the advantage these…jaanvar…have…that people like Arshid end up protecting them.

Just over a year after I had moved to Karachi, things were changing. The regular folk were less afraid, and it was the predators that were trying to get by unnoticed.

The mainstream news stations and papers are ignoring it, focusing instead on areas of politics rather than the drop in gang activity; focusing on the drone activity in the north rather than the increase in people venturing out in certain areas of the city.

As the weeks progressed and more and more people were being found in front of police stations, incapacitated and with notes pinned to them, things seemed to be getting brighter.

Yet there was fear.

Of a boy in blue.

The jaanvar that had been preying on vulnerable women and children were afraid, in pain, and rambling.

The women who had been saved from 'bringing dishonour' remained silent, but the children expressed delight.

A boy in blue was the rumour.

A boy of fire and strength.

A boy reciting the Words of God.

And there was fear.

And little Arshid was smiling.

* * *

_(Asiyah)_

When the Mufti walked in there seemed to be  _aman_  (peace) and  _noor_  (light) emanating from him and I felt a sense of  _sakoon_  (calm). He greeted Yusuf with Salaam and extended them to me even though I was hiding away in the kitchen area.

My hands were shaking.

The Mufti did something odd after he sat down in the seat offered to him: he made dua:

'O my Lord! Expand for me my chest; ease my task for me; and remove the impediment from my speech; so they may understand what I say.'

Ishy slipped in to the kitchen and translated it for me, telling me it was part of a dua that Prophet Musa (Moses) (as) made when God told him to go to the Pharaoh. Why would such a knowledgeable and eloquent man need to make a dua like that?  _We_  were the ones who were under pressure.  _We_  were the ones who were about to lose everything.

_We_  were the ones in danger.

I was in such a panic. More than I had ever been before. More than when the needle was used or the shots were fired.

The Mufti, I knew, was a powerful and influential man…

…and then Ishy held my hand and squeezed it gently, his head leaning against my arm.

* * *

_(Kamran)_

'Before we talk about whatever it is that Beta Ishmail has invited me here for,' said Mufti Mahmood in his melodious voice, 'I have a question I have been meaning to ask.' Aunty remained in the kitchen as Ishy returned to the room, and the Mufti's gaze swept over the three of us.

'Please, Mufti Sahib,' said Uncle, 'ask us anything you would like.'

My heart beat in my throat, and even though the Mufti was smiling there was no calming of my nerves.

'Why the name Ishmail?'

We looked at him, confused. What was wrong with the name?

From the kitchen, Aunty laughed.

'It's because little Hajra could only pronounce it that way,' she said. 'She's the one who named him.'

The Mufti smiled, nodded, and said, 'Understandable.' And with that, the tension seemed to ease a little.

'Brother Yusuf, please do not take this the wrong way but, as this seems to be a sensitive family matter, I do not feel it is appropriate for Sister Asiyah to be so segregated.'

And there was the tension again. A different kind, though.

Coming from London and from an open social circle, the segregation issue always weirded me out. In the village, it was there but really wasn't 'apparent'. The women did their thing and the men did their thing. There didn't seem to a conscious and wilful segregation. In London, though, you'd turn up to a wedding and sometimes find that the families had to split up…and it felt weird. To me.

It's a touchy subject sometimes – on the one hand, women would say they felt freer and more relaxed, on the other they felt sidelined and dismissed. As far as I could tell, there really wasn't a 'right or wrong' overall, it…just depended on who you were with at the time.

Ishy, though, was always lowering his gaze, and had done for years – but when you've got eyes like his…

'Sister, if you are not comfortable sitting with us, I understand; but if you would at least come closer?'

And tension was eased again. For a moment.

When we had settled, the Mufti nodded at Ishy and Ishy began to speak.

He told him about the day Uncle and Aunty found him, and I could see the Mufti tense and his eyes flit as he listened. He told him about his learning and how he became a Hifz, and the Mufti leaned in without leaning in. He told him about his strength and speed, and the Mufti's breathing seemed a little haggard and his skin a little pallid.

He told him about the attack in the village, and the Mufti's mouth was agape.

He told us about his sermons on the street corners, and the Mufti smiled. He told us about the abuse that was sometimes hurled at him, and Mufti's eyes grew sad…and I hung my head.

He told us about his nightly excursions, and we panicked.

None of us knew that he had been doing these things. Aunty and Uncle looked at me with fear, and I lost track of what Ishy was saying as my mind raced and tried to figure out when, over the past few months, he had been doing these things. I knew about the sermons – I was almost always there or nearby – but these…these vigilante acts…

'I couldn't bear it. I could hear the whimpers and the clothes sometimes tearing; I could hear the cries of pain; I could hear the crack of a breaking bone…and I could see…through layers of brick and sheets of metal, and layers of flesh and skeletons of bone and wood and concrete…I could see people being hurt and abused and…and killed...

'I was enraged and I couldn't not help. I made dua and asked Him for guidance, for wisdom and for control, and I took action.

'I'm not…'insan'.

The Mufti held up his hand and Ishy was silent…and we held our breaths.

_Hal ata AAala alinsani heenun mina alddahri lam yakun shayan mathkooran_

And we all frowned.

'Has there not been over man a period of time, when he was nothing to be mentioned?' translated the Mufti, quietly.

He rose slowly and began to make his way to the window.

'There is…noise that we would normally ignore. As people go about their day to day business, they tend not to hear the children's voices on the street, or the car door closing, or a motorcycle being revved. There is so much noise around us that, without even realising it, we block out the sounds. Often, when these noises are brought to our attention, we will focus on them for a few moments before, quite unconsciously, I believe, quickly shutting them out.

'This is also the problem we have when it comes to our families, our friends, our communities, and our societies. The noises we ignore are the underlying cries for help. We ignore our sisters' pleas for help when they are being abused by patriarchs – we 'justify' it by telling ourselves that there are others who are better positioned to help. We ignore the oppression being imposed on those considered weaker – again, we 'justify' by telling ourselves that there are others who are better positioned to help.

'We  _know_  that 'God does not love those who oppress others' but we ignore our responsibilities and pass them on to others.

''Delegation' is the term, I think.'

The Mufti held on to the window ledge briefly, his eyes distant and lost in memory. We watched him quietly and waited.

'Many years ago, soon after I had established the school, I found myself awoken suddenly and a great sense of unease and dread seemed to cling to my chest. I don't know what it was but I believe it was Allah Subhanahu wa ta'ala's will that I had to rise from my bedding and go to the classroom.

'A'oodhubillah, what I saw sickened and enraged me. I saw-' I put my hand on the Mufti's arm and shook my head. We didn't need to know.

'Since that day, I was constantly vigilant. I did my utmost to ensure each student was safe. That each teacher was trustworthy and proper. That if any, whether student or teacher, had…inclinations. But that was only in my school. I…I couldn't do anything to protect the children of other schools.

'Every day I pray for forgiveness for my failing in being able to help so many others.

'I hear the accounts…the attacks…the seductions…the misguidance…and, lately, about a boy in blue. As much as I spend my time with my books, I am still a part of this world.'

The Mufti was shaking and his beautiful voice was breaking. He turned to Ishy, smiled, and ruffled Ishy's hair.

'Ismail. Ishmail. 'God hears'…and understands, and will respond in our times of need.

'He heard when your parents called to Him, and He gave them you.

'He heard when this city and its people called to Him…and He gave them the boy in blue.'

He turned back to the window and stood there quietly for a while.

'I once read of the idea that there is enough music in the world already, and that all we have to do is listen a little bit more carefully.' The Mufti turned to look directly at Ishy as he said this. I have to admit, I was quite surprised to hear the Mufti making a reference to John Cage. Music's a touchy subject, and a lot of scholars and imams are of the view that it's forbidden, so hearing the Mufti make this kind of reference was…intriguing. It was easy to understand what he (and John Cage) had meant, but it was the fact that he had made such a direct reference that tugged at me.

'There is,' said Ishy, a little breathlessly. 'I can hear the rhythms and the timbre and the elements. I've…learned to block a lot of it out…filter it and focus only on what I think or feel is necessary, but, as I said, sometimes I let go and open myself up and I listen and I hear…'

'Laughter and hope, and cries for help?'

'Y-yes.'

'And do you? Help them?'

'I-if…w-when I can.'

'And the ones you cannot or…won't help?'

I saw Ishy slump when the Mufti said those words - 'Won't help' – and I felt a wave of anger wash over me. I've  _seen_  Ishy help those in need, often without them ever knowing, but he's barely eleven years old; he's not supposed to shoulder the responsibilities he has already taken, let alone the ones those words implied.

'I'm sorry, Beta. That was uncalled for. We all make choices but…if I didn't know you to be honest, to be trustworthy, these…fantastic things you're telling me…'

The Mufti went quiet, and I think all of us held our breaths. I looked at Ishy and saw him staring at the floor, his shoulders slumped.

'There is much for me to think about. For now, it may be best if you-'

'You can't throw him out of the school!' I interrupted.

The Mufti looked at me and smiled. 'Beta Kamran, I would never throw him out. He is here for a reason, Alhumdulillah, but…determining that reason…

'Allah Subhanahu wa ta'ala tells us in Surah an Naml that 'none in the heavens and the earth knows the Ghayb except Allah'. The 'Ghayb' is the Unseen, but the Ghayb of now is not the same as the Ghayb of centuries ago. Ghayb is relative. Centuries ago, for example, bacteria was unseen even though the effects could be seen; now we can see bacteria through the use of equipment – since we don't have eyes like young Ishmail – which means although bacteria is 'ghayb' in a general sense it is not 'ghayb' in an absolute sense. It is relative.

' _Al-Ghayb al-Mutlaq_  is that which is unseen in the absolute sense – that which is known only to Allah Subhanahu wa ta'ala. All knowledge is given by Him. Language, scientific discoveries…everything. It is only known through His permission. Yes, various people have put in certain efforts but it is only when He allows that knowledge to become known to them that it becomes so.'

He turned at looked at us in turn. I could see Aunty standing by Uncle, holding his arm tightly, her eyes wide. I could see Uncle standing tensely, his brow furrowed and his free arm twitching and slightly reaching for Ishy. I could see Ishy quietly looking at the floor, waiting, and I wondered what they saw of me. Could they see my fear? Could they see my desire to grab Ishy and run with him to safety?

'Beta, for now I believe you should continue to be 'ghayb'. I…I don't think this world is ready yet.

'Please forgive this old man his fear,' he said as he suddenly knelt in front of Ishy and held him by the shoulders. 'You, your existence, it brings many things into question for many people. For almost everyone, I fear. 'Rabil aalameen' – the Lord of  _all_  that exists. Everything. But we're not ready for you.

'Just as Isa alayhi salaam told his disciples they were not ready for certain truths, we are not ready, either.'

'So what should I do?' whispered Ishy.

Mufti Mahmood shook him slightly and crouch a little lower to meet his downturned gaze. 'You keep doing what you have been doing. I know you know this:  _Do good to others, surely Allah loves those who do good to others_. And you have been doing good, Masha'Allah. It is a cornerstone of our deen and you cannot let my fear, or your parents' fear, or anyone's fear stop you from doing good.

'Continue to learn. Education is absolutely fundamental. Absolutely. Your path is…the choices you will have to make are much different to what I previously thought. Before, I said to you that there were three possible paths. I think now…

'Beta, all I can really say is that, as Hazrat Abu Bakr, RadiAllahu 'Anhu asked the Ummah to do for him, I will help you if you are in the right, and correct you if you are in the wrong. You have to take some time now to decide what you need to do next. You have so much knowledge, but you are still young. So young.'

Ishy looked at the Mufti and asked him, softly, 'What am I?'

Mufti Mahmood smiled, ruffled Ishy's hair, kissed his forehead, and said, 'A Muslim, Beta. You're a Muslim. Maybe…and Allah knows best, of course, but maybe you are Mu'min.'

I made my way over to Aunty and Uncle as Ishy and the Mufti continued talking. Our fears were allayed, for now, but we knew things were going to change, and probably change sooner rather than later. The revelation Ishy made, that he had been out there stopping rapes and muggings and abuses…I had joked before about him becoming a vigilante but I didn't think he would actually become one.

But what else was he supposed to do?

I can't even begin to understand what it's like for him being able to hear the bad things going on around him, around us. The village was a haven, Alhumdulillah, but everything he's been experiencing since then?

I don't think there was any doubt in any of our minds that, eventually, he was going to start doing…spectacular things. He was going to change the world. He  _is_  going to change the world. But Mufti Mahmood is right: the world isn't ready; and Ishy isn't ready yet, either.

How am I supposed to help my little brother become the best he can be? I'm not exactly 'a man of the world'…and is 'a man of the world' the right kind of person to even teach him, anyway?

He has the Mufti, Alhumdulillah, to guide him in deen and parts of duniya, but Ishy's exposed to the darker side of this world already, without even trying. When I was his age I knew to be wary of strangers and 'dodgy' people, but I had never knowingly encountered a paedophile, or a would-be rapist, let alone a frigging would-be suicide bomber! And sure, he's bulletproof, more or less, but he still had bruises when he was shot. What if he hadn't been able to talk down the suicide bomber?

Is he fast enough to outrun an explosion?

Would he even do that?

No, knowing him he would probably try to smother it. Try to make sure it was only him and the bomber who would get hurt. Maybe carry the bomber and speed him away, even.

He's fast enough to run to Islamabad and back in mere minutes, but what if there was more than one bomber?

Ya Allah, are we supposed to train him somehow?

Is there a line as to what he can and can't intervene in? Dissuasive burns in order to stop a would-be molester or rapist are understandable, I guess, but what happens when he's older? What happens if he gets outed?

And it was while these thoughts were running through my head that there was a knock on the door and the feelings of panic rushed back into the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary
> 
> Surah Rahman – this is the 55th 'chapter' in the Qur'an. The name of the surah highlights one of God's oft-cited attributes (Ar-Rahman is one of God's names/99 attributes): that He is being merciful currently and immediately (this is an approximate translation of the meaning). The verse 'He has taught you' is often translated to include, in brackets to establish it is distinct from the actual Arabic text, 'mankind', but the nature of the verse itself is open – it doesn't specify who is being taught but, rather, establishes that God teaches the Qur'an to anyone who is willing to learn.
> 
> '(as)' - abbreviation of 'Alayhis Salam' – Peace be upon him – used when a Prophet is referred to by name (for ease, when written (in English) it is often abbreviated to '(as)')
> 
> A'oodhubillah – 'I seek refuge with Allah (God)'
> 
> Insan – roughly 'human' but usually 'mankind'. 'Al-Insan' is also the 76th 'chapter' in the Qur'an.
> 
> Deen – 'religion' or 'way of life'
> 
> Hazrat Abu Bakr (ra) was the first head of state of the Muslims after the Holy Prophet (saw)
> 
> Radi Allahu 'Anhu is an expression used by Muslims whenever a name of a male companion of the Prophet (saw) is mentioned or used in writing. Radia Allahu 'Anha is used for female companions. Both often abbreviated, in English, to '(ra)' when used in writing. It means 'May God be pleased with him/her'
> 
> Ummah is 'nation' or 'community' and is used to refer to Muslim population as a whole
> 
> Mu'min literally means 'a believer'. A Muslim is a person who is an adherent of Islam and believes in its doctrines, while a Mu'min is a Muslim with a higher degree of belief. So every Mu'min is a Muslim but not every Muslim is a Mu'min
> 
> Duniya – 'world', this realm of existence


	6. Odyssey (part 2)

_(Kamran)_

For a while, the few moments of relief we had when Mufti Mahmood had been so accepting of Ishy seemed to have never existed after I opened the door and attended to the person who had knocked.

He was around 5'11 and had dark but prematurely greying hair. He had a small beard, not one of those tightly groomed ones but an 'actual' beard that was around an inch thick and covered his jaw. Like his hair, his beard had some greying, too. His nose was aquiline and, to be honest, seemed to look a lot 'stronger' because of his beard. His eyebrows were thick and were almost like upside down ticks, and there was a hint of a potential unibrow. His eyes were a light brown and deep set, casting a shadow over them.

'AsSalaamu Alaikum,' he said, holding out his right hand. I couldn't help but raise my eyebrow. Surprise and curiosity – he didn't pronounce it the awkward and messy way I had heard so many times back in London.

'Walaikum. Can I help you?'

'Ah, a Brit. Great,' he grinned. 'As much as I enjoy practising my Urdu, this might be better in English.'

I stepped through the doorway, closed the door behind me, crossed my arms and tried to puff up my comparatively slighter frame. He took a step back and held up his hands around waist height.

'It's okay; I'm not here to cause any trouble. I promise.'

I glared at him.

'My name's George Taylor-'

Oh, shit. I've heard of him!

'-and…hmm, I take it you've heard of me?'

This was not good. The guy had made a name for himself by investigating and revealing the involvement of agencies from five Western countries in what had originally been called a 'people's coup' in Peru, but that was a decade ago. After that, he was blacklisted from Europe and North America, and ended up spending a few years in South America and then the Middle East and Asia. He mainly did pieces that would highlight the plight of those people who were basically 'caught in the crossfire'. Last I heard he was somewhere in Afghanistan.

'Look, Kamran, right? Maybe we should step inside?'

Shit, shit, shit!

* * *

_(Yusuf)_

Asiyah squeezed my hand as we watched Ishmail and Mufti Mahmood talk. Suddenly, Ishmail stood up straight and stared at the door…and Asiyah squeezed my hand even harder.

Kamu walked in and was followed by a bearded white man. The man lowered his gaze but Asiyah quickly hurried to the kitchen area. Mufti Mahmood turned to face them, placing his hand firmly on Ishmail's shoulder.

'Uncle, Mufti-Sahib, Ishmail, this is George Taylor. He's a reporter.'

The Mufti frowned and I could see his grip tighten on Ishmail's shoulder as he tried to bring Ishmail behind him, and it was in that act that I knew that Ishmail was right to trust him.

George Taylor held up his hands and spoke in accented Urdu: 'Please, don't be alarmed.'

* * *

_(Kamran)_

'As Kamran here just said, I'm a reporter. I moved to this part of the world a few years ago, shortly after a shadow government began to form in Afghanistan. Recently, I decided to station myself here in Karachi – with the upheavals and the influx of people, I felt things would be happening here, and in Pakistan in general, and figured this would be a good base to have. It was a little after that that I began to hear about a boy in blue.'

'But how did you hear about that?' I interrupted. 'It's not in the news or anything.'

'No, it's not, but the word is out on the streets. Whispers and stories, confusion and speculation, demons and angels. Throughout all that, the constant was that it was a boy in blue. A tattered blue sherwani.'

I looked over at Ishy and saw his eyes widen. He then looked at Uncle, and I figure he scanned through the wall and looked at Aunty, before lowering his head as if in shame.

'That doesn't explain why you're here, Mr Taylor,' said the Mufti, softly.

'Oh, um…Mufti Mahmood, right? You run the madrassa a few miles away.'

The Mufti nodded, his hand still on Ishy's shoulder.

Before he could continue, Uncle interrupted and asked everyone to sit down. 'It's not right that we should be so confrontational. Please?'

In deference to Uncle's request, I sat down along with the others. I glanced at Ishy and knew he could hear our hearts racing.

'How did you find us?

'I'm an investigative journalist. It's what I do.'

And he spoke about hearing the stories and initially dismissing them. He spoke about his time wandering the streets of the city and listening to the people and how their tales sowed a seed of curiosity. Tales of a coming change and the righting of wrongs.

He spoke about seeing various people pinned to gates and sidewalks, over weeks and months, and the notes hinting at criminal activities they had taken part in. He told us that initially – and for many still – it was believed that these acts were attempts at defaming certain people.

He spoke about injured would-be rapists and assaulters across the city seeking treatment in various hospitals. About the uplifted atmosphere in the streets and people feeling at ease. About the drops in various criminal activities and how, convinced that there was a connection, that something was happening, he used the 'tried and tested' method of mapping it all out.

He spoke about the stories of 'the boy in blue' and that one frame of footage.

'It truly was a 'blink and you'll miss it' find, but when I saw it…well, I just had to find out the truth. It took me a few weeks, but-'

'And now?' asked Ishy quietly.

'I honestly don't know. I want to find out more about you – where you came from, how you can do what you can do.  _What,_ exactly, it is you can do…but even when I saw that image I already knew that, well, this isn't a story to be told to the world. Not yet, and maybe not ever.'

'Why?'

'This world…it…it just isn't ready for someone like you…'

And we nodded…Uncle, Mufti Mahmood, and myself…we nodded, and Ishy's shoulders slumped.

* * *

_(George Taylor's notes)_

His eyes are an amazing blue, but…I don't know how to describe it…they…it was like they couldn't make up their mind. Intrigue, excitement, wariness, some aspect of fear, understanding, all of these things and more kept flashing through them. With Kamran, well, his eyes mainly showed distrust and brief hints of fear…and I think there was some hate, too; the Mufti's were apprehensive; Mr Yusuf's…hopeful but protective…but the kid's…Ishmail's…I suppose most people were caught by the blue and just didn't notice the flashes, or maybe…maybe I'm just looking for more…

It was strange, though, seeing the boy in blue (but not wearing blue) sitting there. Barely a teenager but clearly knowledgeable…aware. I had to keep reminding myself that he could leave the room before I could even blink.

One frame.

'Will others like you come?' the Mufti asked me.

He had thrown me with that question. For a moment.

'I…I don't think so. No one believes the stories. At least not yet.'

'Is there any reason for them to?'

'Eventually, sure. I mean, if people keep turning up to hospitals with burns, or keep being found pinned to gates or to the sidewalk – I mean, sure, there have been jokes about how the sidewalks were poorly done, but driving a metal post into concrete…strike that, driving a  _bent_  metal post into concrete, or even just bending something like that, and with no one hearing and no one seeing…people are going to start asking questions, and maybe keeping an eye out-'

'Perhaps them keeping an eye out is a good thing,' said Ishy firmly. We looked at him as he continued. 'In the months that I've spent here the one thing that stands out is how people keep turning a blind eye. How they just…it's like they're ostriches! If they're now looking and stepping up-'

'They're not, Ishmail. That's just it. Those wife-beaters you tossed into the streets? They're back in their homes. Maybe for now those men are scared and some may have changed. Maybe for now those women are safe, but no one's keeping an eye out for them.'

'It's not right…'

And that's when I knew that all this kid wanted to do was to help people. He could do amazing things – I don't quite know what yet, but he was certainly fast and strong…or maybe it was some kind of telekinesis…

* * *

_(Kamran)_

We had a lot to think about. It was one thing telling the Mufti about Ishy, but now that there was a reporter sniffing around…

I was so scared.

* * *

_(Yusuf)_

We always knew that Ishmail was an amanat…that we were looking after him…on…on behalf of someone else. Something else. On behalf of Him…but…Ya Allah, it was too soon. I know he's mature and understanding and knowledgeable…but he's just a child…

* * *

_(Kamran)_

'There are things about me that we don't know, Bhai. Maybe it's time we tried to find out?'

It's too soon…

* * *

_(Extract from news article)_

_After weeks of the crime rate in the city dropping, and a flood of cases being submitted to the courts, the City of Lights was brighter and safer. It is apparent, however, that this lead to, for lack of a better word, complacency._

_The City of Lights is on fire._

_For the past week, chaos has reigned._

_It is as yet uncertain how coordinated the attacks are, and the confusion among the authorities as to whom the responsible parties are is certainly being fed by so many groups claiming responsibility for a wide range of the attacks._

_The Edhi Foundation, having played a key role over the years in disaster response in the city, as well as across the country, has launched a formal international appeal for funding, blood, supplies and volunteers. At the time of writing, as a result of what appears to be 'double tap' tactics, dozens of their response personnel have been killed._

_The City of Lights is in mourning._

_The City of Lights is afraid._

* * *

_(Kamran)_

'All these powers…and…'

'Shh…it's okay, Beta.'

I quietly closed the door as Uncle and Aunty held Ishy. He had been out there every day, trying to help without drawing attention to himself. 'Invisible speed', he called it, and he's using some form of ventriloquism as well.

Hundreds have been killed.

Thousands have been maimed.

Every day my hands are stained with blood as I try to help wherever I can, and…and every day I cry and…and I feel my heart harden.

I can barely sleep.

'God does not burden a soul more than it can bear,' said George as he stood near the doorway.

'You're going to start quoting from the Qur'an to me?' I hissed at him – yeah, I hissed…

'How's he doing?'

'He's hurting. I think he's angry. With himself.'

George nodded, and I wanted to hit him.

This wasn't his fault, though…but I really wanted to hit him.

'Escalation. Some of the people Ishmail had handed over to the authorities…well, they had followers, and those followers are retaliating.'

'Shit.'

'I know. It's chaos out there, Kamran, and, honestly, I think it's more a 'jump on the bandwagon' response than anything more…more organised.'

'It just…doesn't make sense…'

'To you and others like you, no. To them, though, it makes perfect sense, and  _that_  is what makes them so dangerous.

'I've been to a couple of Ishmail's dawah sessions, and the Mufti's lectures, and I've seen the crowd warming to them…but I've also been to speeches of other people…the ones extolling hate and…and sowing discord…'

'And?'

George sighed and his shoulders slumped as if he was weary, and…suddenly, he looked so much older than before.

'And words of fire and action stir them more than words of hope and patience.'

A thought came to me. A fear, really. I quickly wrote the question down:

_Have any of the women he saved from being beaten by their husbands..?_

He didn't answer. He turned away and began to rub his eyes as he reached for the jug of water on the table.

Shit.

* * *

_(Translated extracts from the coded journal of Ishmail ibn Yusuf)_

I truly believed I was making a difference; that the things I was doing would encourage others to step up. All I can hear and see and smell now is chaos…and I…I can't understand it. I can't understand how people are so willing to kill…and maim…and ruin…

I understand the fear of change; I went through that myself. I'm  _going_  through that. I can…accept, if not quite understand, why some stay with those who are harming them…but this taking of life…the killing of those who have done nothing…the killing of  _children_ …

My words are not enough. I hoped they would be…that I could inspire…but…to them, I'm just a child…

I'm nothing…

_O Allah, I seek your counsel by Your knowledge and by Your power I seek strength and I ask You from Your immense favour, for verily You are able while I am not and verily You know while I do not and You are the Knower of the unseen. O Allah, if you know this affair, the work I am doing in this city and the change I am trying to encourage, to be good for me in relation to my religion, my life, and end, then decree and facilitate it for me, and bless me with it, and if You know this affair to be ill for me towards my religion, my life, and end, then remove it from me and remove me from it, and decree for me what is good wherever it be and make me satisfied with such._

* * *

_(George Taylor's notes)_

'I've run through these streets before, GT.'

'That's part of the problem, Ishy. You've  _run_  through them but you haven't actually  _walked_  through them. I understand, I think, that you can see and process pretty much everything within moments, but those moments are transitory. Like, you might, as you run through a field as the sun rises, see and figure out which flowers are going to open up first, but that's not the same as actually  _seeing_  those flowers open.'

'Are you saying I'm impatient?'

'No, nothing like that. I'm just saying that…you can see the 'bigger picture', and you can see it better than anyone because you can actually see it. People like me, we theorise and make suppositions, and sometimes we affect things in a way which force our theories to come 'true', but you…

'You can see the structure of a mountain and figure out with pinpoint accuracy what impact your punch would have if you hit the mountain at certain points. You would know exactly how to use that mountain to get the result you want. Someone like me, though, would just do whatever they could to take down even part of the mountain and then hope for the best. Even with 'controlled explosions' it's all guesswork for us.'

'Okay, but what-'

'I just think, for now, you need to think more in the short term rather than the long.'

* * *

_(Translated extracts from the coded journal of Ishmail ibn Yusuf)_

GT had a point in that, to a certain degree, what I am and what I can do does create some distance between me and…humankind. That, for lack of better expression, I'm 'getting ahead of myself' with regards to helping bring about better things.

* * *

_(Kamran)_

I still don't trust him. I don't know why, he's been nothing but good and supportive and…

…maybe I'm jealous?

Ishy's looking to someone else for advice and guidance and…

But I didn't have such…animosity towards Mufti Mahmood, so why George?

* * *

_(George Taylor's notes)_

'Kamran's right, the argument could be considered 'generic' but it is one you absolutely have to consider. You have an obligation, one we all do, to leave this world in a better way than you found it. Now Kamran, hopefully, will be able to do that once he becomes a doctor, and I do what I can in my writing-'

'What about tangible and immediate change, though? Like…if you're a passenger in a car and the driver is about to hit something-'

'Ishy,' interrupted Kamran, 'sometimes grabbing the steering wheel is the worst thing you can do. At that point in time it might  _seem_  like the right thing, and sometimes it  _is_  the right thing, but sometimes it's not. Sometimes…sometimes you might pull the steering wheel too far the other way.'

'I know you haven't seen many movies, Ishy, but you've seen bad driving. You've stopped accidents. We're just being allegorical but on a social level, a personal level…sometimes taking away something bad only brings in something worse.'

''Enjoining for good and forbidding evil should only be done by the one who knows what he is doing and he should do that gently,'' he whispered.

'It's often counter-intuitive, though, isn't it? Rape is evil, there's absolutely no doubt about that. But isn't burning someone evil, too? Ishy, I know those people healed, and that their physical trauma is relatively brief, and that you made sure there weren't any life-threatening injuries, but that doesn't make burning them 'right', does it? What makes you think you were the right person to exact punishment for their evil?'

'Because at that moment in time, I was the only one who could.'

'Fine. And afterwards? You know how superstitious some people are, what if someone you stopped decides that their victim was the reason for their injury and capture. Let's not play semantics, okay? You're a bright kid, so let's just focus on superstition.'

'Worldwide or regional?'

'Funny.'

'I try.'

'George has a point, though, Ishy. We need time to adapt, to adjust. It's just the way we, humans, are.'

'You really think I could punch a mountain?'

'You never know. Maybe when you're older. You're faster than a speeding bullet, and by your own admission you've been getting stronger, so…'

* * *

_(Yusuf and Asiyah)_

This…is a hard thing to do…

Meri rani…

Shush. I'm allowed to cry, I'm his mother.

I know.

We are grateful, Mr Taylor, that you…

These interviews, they will..? Thank you.

He's given us this device so that we can always reach him…

…but…we won't use it. I fear we have been holding him back…please, Mr Taylor, do not argue. We've done the best that we can and we trust that you and Kamran can help him on the next part of his journey.

* * *

_(Kamran)_

'I'm going with you.'

'To be honest, Kamran, I wouldn't have it any other way. I know I still have to win your trust completely, but I also know that you know Ishy better than almost anyone else and that you're like brothers. Besides, maybe I can sow a seed of journalistic intrigue in you.'

His easy smile is so disarming, but…I just…I can't trust him…

'Ishy's said he's going to try his hand at doing a few articles, and I've got a pretty good standing with a number of outlets as well as the AP. It will be a good way for him to find his voice, I think. And you, too, if you want to.'

'I…never thought of Ishy as a journalist. I…I don't mean to be rude but…well, I just figured he'd be something more…even if the 'pen is mightier than the sword', y'know?'

'Ah, Kamran, my friend, the words of a journalist can help shape the world.'

'You going to use a pen-name, Ishy?'

He nodded and grinned. 'I'm going with a Western name for now, but I quite like it. I think it suits me.'

'What's the name?'

'Clark. Clark Kent.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary
> 
> Amanat – (held in) trust
> 
> Meri rani – My Queen


	7. Odyssey (part 3)

_(George Taylor's notes)_

I have to admit, I wasn't too keen on Ishy's idea to  _walk_  back to the village – we were in Karachi, and the village was  _twelve hundred miles_   _away_! I've been in some tough situations over the years, but taking a journey like this with a boy and a young man…well, okay, he's not your average boy, but still…

Maybe I'm the impatient one here?

_(Kamran's journal)_

Last time I did this kind of thing – writing a journal – I was prepping for my GCSEs. It was quite therapeutic back then, but I'm…I'm quite worried about how this is going to turn out this time round. I'm not the boy I was when I was 16, and I didn't have to do – or even want to do – a journey of discovery like this.

Allahu Aalim, though, right?

I think I found it easier doing the videos George asked us to do - writing stuff down and being able to look back on it…I don't know, I just worry. I know it sounds silly considering the fact the videos are us talking about him, but, for me, there was a kind of distance between me and the filming…writing it down makes it so much more personal.

If there is someone reading this, and it's not George or Ishy or Uncle or Aunty or me…

Hi

My name's Kamran, and I'm friends with an alien.

Yup, we're not alone in the universe.

Thing is, a lot of Muslims already know that we're not alone (I should probably put the 'know' in quote marks, but still -) because we believe in the existence of angels and jinn and other things beyond our knowledge and vision, but many more have 'problems' with the concept of aliens. I've never had that problem, but then I've known about the existence of aliens since I was a kid.

As far as I know, he's one of a kind – my friend. He's faster than a speeding bullet – I think Usain Bolt would weep if he saw how fast my friend is – and tougher than an out of control truck – I still shudder when I remember how it crumpled around his small body – and he's the most loving, inquisitive, and patient person I know.

He has powers and abilities far beyond anything we can achieve at the moment, but doesn't look down on us. He has told me that I'm one of the reasons why he is the way he is, but I know I definitely can't take any credit. I know I can be bitter and judgmental, and I know I can look at things or people and be disgusted…but my friend, the alien, he looks past all that.

I can't see the things he can – the things he has described for me, the colours with no names, the magic that goes on around us without us ever being aware of it – but I can't excuse the fact that I have to try to be a better person. My friend, the alien, his very being encourages me to be better.

I would love to introduce you to him, I really would, but – and, please, don't take this the wrong way – you're just not ready to meet him yet. You'd freak out at the very least…

_(George Taylor's expanded notes)_

For the first time since I've known him, I think I saw fear  _of_  Ishy in Kam's eyes. Not fear  _for_  him, that's been there from the very first minute that I met him, but fear  _of_  him. Specifically, fear of what he can do. I think I saw it, but, well, it's kind of hard to gauge.

Ishy's proposal was totally understandable – we knew he had been getting stronger and faster and, like he said, 'just because I'm bullet-proof doesn't mean I should just shield someone as they're getting shot at. I should move them to safety.' Kam was also right: doing something like that, moving someone out of the way of gunfire, isn't like it is in the movies.

'There's an 'eggshell-skull' aspect that I absolutely have to take into consideration if I'm going to do this kind of thing,' Ishy had said in a kind of distant way. Then he showed us exactly what he meant.

It was a couple of days after we had left Karachi behind us, and we had covered a lot of ground – Kam and I knew that Ishy was taking things easy on us, of course, but our feet certainly weren't agreeing with that. We had gone through the Lyari Basti only a few days beforehand – an area on the outskirts of Karachi – and, so far, things had been relatively uneventful. Ishy disappeared now and then, but we had expected that – after the riots and chaos of the past few weeks we knew we had to be alert to any potential flare-ups. Although the reporter in me wanted to be there to witness and eventually report on these incidents, I had promised Ishy I would listen to him and try to stay safe. He, in turn, promised to give me updates and, when possible, provide visuals, and, as expected, he had been true to his word.

In Lyari Basti there had been a clash between some Muhajirs (which is a term Pakistanis use to describe immigrants and their descendants) and some Saraikis and Balochis. It's a shame the FIFA World Cup wasn't on because odds are we would have made it through there without any incident catching Ishy's attention – in a nation of cricketers and hockey players, this area was famous for its love of soccer (Kam, if you're reading this, I'm sorry but I just can't call it 'football'). Generally, though, things were a lot quieter – but we shared Ishy's concern that this was 'the quiet before the storm'.

The eventual, initial, goal for now, according to Ishy's plans, was to make it to Hyderabad but via Kirthar National Park. Completely different direction to Hyderabad, but totally understandable, in my opinion – and I know Kam was quite excited about seeing the park, too. We weren't using the Hub Dam Road or the Kirthar Park Road, but, instead, we were walking through the area in between – rough landscape with villages dotted around here and there. It was here that Ishy showed us what he meant about having to be careful.

_(Kamran's journal)_

One thing I know with absolute certainty is that Ishy will do his utmost  _not_  to hurt anyone, but he will bruise or knock out the bad guys. When he first told me he had run to Islamabad I had this really silly – and, frankly, ridiculous – image of him giving me a piggy-back ride as he ran. I never asked him to and he never offered, and I put that idea aside for a while and didn't really give it much thought. I've been on enough theme park rides to know that the speed at which he can run would likely rip my head off – and that's with him holding back.

I guess there are some things we're not meant to do – or at least we're not meant to them until we are ready for them, and doing a super-speed run with Ishy is one of them.

_(George Taylor's expanded notes)_

'I'm stronger than I was back in the village. A lot stronger. Maybe it's because I've been using my abilities more than I ever did, like when people start an exercise regime and-'

'Come on, Ishy, we don't make those kinds of gains,' I said, interrupting him – and watching Kam's reaction.

'Analogy, man. Geez,' said Kam, dismissively. I know it was still early days but I had hoped that Kam would have warmed up to me a little by now.

Ishy casually lifted a small boulder, 'this is around 150lbs, 70-odd kilos. Average-ish weight for a male.' He put the boulder on the ground and, as he walked forward a little, I gave it a shove with my foot. It didn't move.

'Let's say I needed to move someone from there,' he said, pointing at the boulder, 'to here,' marking a line in the dusty ground. 'Roughly twenty feet. It's not far, but-'

'There could be a whiplash problem or something, right?'

See? That's the thing that puts me in awe of this kid – he takes the time to think things through. Me? I probably would have just rushed in and caused more damage. I'm not saying rushing in to help someone is a bad thing – Lord knows I've been in my fair share of scrapes where I've had to do some crazy things to get people to safety – but I'm not likely to rip someone's arm off in doing so.

_(Kamran's journal)_

It was something I had kind of visualised and thought about over the last couple of years, and especially after the attack in the village – how much of a limitation do we, ordinary people, have on what Ishy can do? If he moves a car out of the way of a collision, what effects do the internal forces have on the occupants? Is he able to calculate that and compensate for it so as to avoid occupants hitting their heads on the windows, for example? Now that he's stronger and faster is he able to still make that compensation or is it even harder for him?

When you've grown up watching re-runs of things like  _The Six-Million Dollar Man_  and had physics and 'realism' being talked about around you, and when you've seen videos showing the effects of collisions and movement, you almost automatically think of things like that. I mean, look at Spock from  _Star Trek_ : compared to Kirk he was superhuman – strength, speed, stamina, intelligence. Ishy is like Spock to the nth degree. And this isn't make-believe where Kirk can keep going after taking a beating from someone who can pretty much put their fist through concrete. Sure, in the  _Trek_  shows we saw that human ingenuity would enable them to work around being slower or weaker, but a punch that can dent a metal door would almost certainly crush someone's face, right?

And I don't like the fact that he has asked me to carry this piece of space rock around with me. I don't like that he doesn't seem to trust himself.

_(George Taylor's expanded notes)_

At first we couldn't see anything 'wrong' with the boulder when he moved it. He didn't use his 'faster than a speeding bullet' speed, but 'just enough to get someone out of the way quickly' speed – faster than what Kam and I could do but not so fast as to be impossible for anyone to do. At first we couldn't see anything 'wrong' other than the sad look on Ishy's face, and then we saw the small indentations from where Ishy had grabbed the boulder.

'See? If that had been a person then their arms would have broken.'

'Or just bruised, yaar,' Kam argued.

'You want me to try it on you?' Ishy asked, bitterly.

'Is it that much harder for you to gauge now?' I asked, gently.

'Yes. I  _know_  I can do this right, but it's going to take time and-'

'And you're worried you might hurt someone, we know,' said Kam, as he stepped closer to his brother. 'I never told you about my fight, did I?'

'Fight?' Ishy queried. This certainly got my attention – I had figured Kam was one of those guys who always suppressed his anger, and never pegged him as one who had ever let it out.

'Yeah, a fight,' Kam confirmed, shifting his backpack and sleeping bag to a more comfortable position, and picking up his pace a little. 'It was a couple of years ago now, while I was still in school. Last day of term and we finished early and I had gone into the city by myself. Really didn't expect anything like that to happen, though, but it became a 'wrong place, wrong time' kind of thing. Seriously, though, who would have thought that you could get attacked outside a comic book store?'

'Attacked?'

'Yeah. Basically some drunk racists. They tried to hit me with a bottle and…well, it kind of escalated from there. It still gives me shivers.'

'Go on?'

'It was instinct, really. I had been training for a few years by then and I guess the training just took over. I broke a couple of noses, someone's ankle and another person's elbow or something.'

'Are you being serious?' I interrupted. This really wasn't what I was expecting when he mentioned having been in a fight.

'I'm not proud of it, but I'm grateful that I had the skills to look after myself. My point, though, is that since then, since knowing that I can hurt someone that badly, I've avoided any kind of physical confrontation but that doesn't mean I wouldn't use my skills, or whatever, if someone needed my help, or if I needed to defend myself. The same applies here: just because there is a risk of someone getting hurt by Ishy – and you know that risk has always been there – doesn't mean he should not help if he can.'

Dust was kicked into the air and then the sound of cracking rock.

'That was me grabbing and moving the rock at a little over the speed of a bullet from an AK47,' said Ishy, softly. The boulder was cracked and pieces were crumbling off. I saw Kam's eyes widen, and I'm certain it was fear.

'You just…need to…practice, yaar,' Kam said as Ishy kicked at the crumbling rock, his face clouded with sadness and frustration. My heart went out to him. As objective as I'm trying to be about all this, seeing the pain he was going through as a result of him basically being dangerous without even trying to be, and knowing how much he wants to be able to help and make a difference to those around him…

Maybe you had to be there, I don't know, all I do know, though, is that the kid was really tugging at my heart.

So I made my suggestion, even though it probably wasn't my place to do so: 'Or work around it for now?'


	8. Odyssey (part 4)

_Kamran_

It was clear Ishy was taking things slower than he had intended, and that it wasn't because we were holding him up. I actually think that our being there was helping him keep things together – I don't think I'm being 'big-headed' in thinking that, I just...believe that the fact that we were still with him was a source of comfort for him. That even though his powers and abilities were increasing so much, George and I weren't afraid  _of_  him. I really think that was important for Ishy to know – he could handle us being afraid  _for_  him, but he, himself, was afraid of us someday being afraid  _of_  him. So much of what he was able to do was uncharted territory – yes, he had experimented and nudged himself along back in the village, but most of that was intellectual and sensory...now it was his physical side that was manifesting more and more.

* * *

  _George_

This whole invulnerability thing is a little disconcerting. I know Ishy's durable and part of that is to do with the way his abilities work – his speed, for example, means there has to be some sort of protection inherent in him that stops him from burning up or tearing apart – but how do you go around testing something like that?

It's actually quite insane.

I mean, the bulletproof thing – we don't know if it's something that's consistent or was a one-off because of what was going on. Kam and Ishy told me about what happened at the village, and Ishy's parents spoke about it, too, but no one, not even Ishy, had any idea that bullets would bounce off him. The kid was just trying to draw the attention of the bandits so that everyone else could try to get to safety.

To top it off, he wasn't even at his 'normal' strength level, so he was he even  _luckier_  that he wasn't killed when they shot him. Repeatedly.

'It hurt at first. I tried to stare the man down as he pulled the trigger, but I could see he just didn't care. Then I could see his eyes widen with fear as I stood there. Sure, the first couple of bullets moved me around a little but when I realised they weren't tearing my flesh apart...

'..they did hurt at first, though. Sharp stings with lots of force. They were uncomfortable.'

* * *

_Kamran_

We had gotten used to his disappearing act and, of course, we weren't worried about him being discrete about his interventions – this was Ishy, the guy who could calculate a number of probable scenarios and adjust them accordingly in less than a heartbeat. Seriously, I don't think I'm using hyperbole. Anyway, we had gotten used to his disappearing act, but when he came back this time and said, 'we're going this way. Now,' we knew something was wrong.

* * *

_George_

'They were like animals,' and believe me as I write this: Ishy was growling. I've seen him angry a couple of times in the short time I've known him – a sort of 'righteous anger' – but this...people describe some angry folk as having 'eyes that flashed red', well, Ishy's were on fire. He kept muttering some Arabic phrases – these short prayers that Muslims tend to do – and all Kam could tell me was that Ishy was asking for patience and the awareness to do the right thing. Both of us were curious about where Ishy was taking us, but we were apprehensive, too.

'In other places, I've stopped them and made them afraid. Invisible intervention. These people, though...it's the kind of thing I dreaded, that my being 'invisible' when I help someone might backfire.'

'They're accusing someone of using magic, aren't they?' whispered Kam.

Magic.

I'm not one to say whether it's real or not – I've been spending the last few months in the company of an alien, and magic is an easy thing for me to accept – but I've read stories about what has happened to someone accused of doing magic. Especially when it's a woman.

'Instead of repenting for what they had tried to do, they...' Ishy's ear twitched a little as he used his superhearing to listen in on something, and Kam and I had no idea how far away from us it was. 'They're setting up a 'Council of Elders'.'

We could have been there in seconds, but Ishy still didn't trust his strength and speed. His flaming eyes stared at the floor as he relied on his hearing to guide us, and feared his sight might set everything around us on fire.

* * *

_Kamran_

Magic. It's not a straight-forward thing to describe. It's not card tricks or pulling rabbits out of hats, but there are elements of illusion. It's more 'collusion', though. This isn't the best time to get into it, but this kind of accusation is quite common in remote areas. The 'easy excuse'.

This is what Ishy was able to piece together as we made our way to the small village he was taking us to:

\- Some guy had taken a fancy to one of the girls but her parents had given her the freedom to choose who she wanted to marry, and she wasn't interested in him

\- This guy had taken this as an affront to his honour and had asked the Council to overrule the girl's parents and allow him to marry her

\- This 'Council' ruled in his favour, and claimed that they knew 'better' than the girl's parents as to what was best for her

\- The girl and her parents protested the ruling and had been making their way to the police in order to file a complaint and get some protection

\- The guy and a few of his friends decided to stop them, and they attacked the family on the roadside, with the aim of killing the parents and abducting the girl

\- That's when Ishy came into the equation. He was too late to stop the girl's father from being knocked out, but he saved the girl and her mother. He didn't trust himself to pull the father to safety but he protected him from the bushes

\- That protection is what then brought about the accusation of magic use. Because no one could see Ishy rushing past and using the wind generated by his speed as a way of knocking back the father's would-be assailants, and because they couldn't see what was heating up their guns or melting their shoes, they concluded that the girl and her mother were magic users

'They're going to tell the Council that they had found them trying to make a blood sacrifice of the father. They're going to try to claim that the injuries  _they_  inflicted on him were actually caused by his wife and daughter, and that the only reason why he had been so against the marriage was because they had put a spell on him.'

* * *

_George_

We sneaked into the village just as the Council was gathered. Their dialect was difficult for Kam and I to follow, but we could figure out the gist of it. We could understand the accusations that were being laid against the mother and daughter.

'The father's locked up in that house over there,' Ishy whispered, pointing at a building at the edge of the village centre. 'There's a door 'round the back. It's bolted but not locked. You two need to go get him out of there.'

'What about you?'

'They have acid.'

Kam and I understood – he needed to be here, just in case...even though we didn't know if...

'You all know I am an honest person,' said the youth with the slickened hair. 'It was only after thinking long and hard that I made the decision to propose to Shamaila – a proposal which, I know you all agree, was beneath my station but would uplift hers and her family's. Yet they rejected me. Do you know why? Because they were finding a way to bewitch us all and destroy us.

'I am not merely saying this. You, uncle,' he said, pointing at one of the elders. 'Ever since Shamaila gave you that food last week you have been feeling ill, haven't you?' The man nodded and claimed he was still poorly.

'I, myself, have been having terrible headaches since I made the proposal, but what we have been experiencing is nothing like what Uncle Azam has been going through. For years he has been bewitched by his wife and daughter. For years he has struggled to make ends meet because of their spells and curses. The poor man. Even now he is at death's door.'

'We warned you all about sending your daughters to school, didn't we?' said one of the Council, loudly, wagging his finger. 'Imam Sahib warned you all, too. He told you that there was no need for such things, but none of you listened.'

'Shamaila may just be the first of the evil to come to us,' coughed another Council member.

The young man nodded in agreement. 'Indeed, we are simple folk with simple farms – what need do our women have to read and write?' He held up his hand and showed his right thumb. ' _This_  has been sufficient for years and is sufficient for them now.'

* * *

_Kamran_

As George and I edged closer to the small house Ishy had told us to go to, I saw the girl and her mother cowering in what looked like some kind of pen. Covered with a couple of dirty shawls, they clung to each other, sobbing.

The man's words angered me and it took more restraint than I realised I had for me to not go out there and confront him. Education is key, and that was something I learnt from both London and the village. 'Seek knowledge, even if you have to go to China to do so,' was something the Prophet (saw) advised, and the first word revealed to him was 'Iqra' – 'read', 'recite' – and here were these people who seemed to fear learning...or, more likely, feared the power of learning.

Ignorance isn't always bliss, it's often quite dangerous, and this stubbornness they had was even more so. No one back in our village had this kind of attitude, but elsewhere it seemed to be...some kind of pervasive thought. Some...some strange and improper belief or principle that they clung to. It was ridiculous, and watching and listening to all this reminded of the 'clashes' I had been having with some people back in London about Islam being against education, and especially education for girls and women. This, this village and these people, the people like them who had emigrated and were clinging on to their 'cultures', they were the reason why...

The mother saw us approaching and she looked terrified. She shooed at us as she held her daughter, warning us...protecting us. George signalled for her not to worry and gestured at the building Ishy had told us about, and her terror, just for a moment, was replaced with hope and gratitude, and her shooing changed into gestures of encouragement.  _'Yes, please, help him. Save him.'_

* * *

_George_

Seeing that crying girl...I don't know, maybe I was homesick or something, but seeing her reminded me of Lolo. I'm smiling as I say this because I know how much she hates being called that, but seeing that girl I wondered how Lolo's life would have been like if things had been a little different.

There have been things in my travels, in my work, that I have found to be similar across cultures, countries, and faiths. Things people deny or prefer to highlight in other cultures, countries, and faiths.

It's strange how stress can make you think of something other than the thing you're dealing with – and I suppose it's okay to talk about it now because this is more of a review rather than a play-by-play, but...maybe it's not the right time?

No, let's focus on Ishy and what he did for now. It's better that way, I think.

'Imam Sahib is not here, but he would certainly agree that an example needs to be made of them,' said one of the elders.

The young man smiled at hearing this and asked, 'What would you suggest as suitable punishment?'

'She has tried to bring dishonour to this village, we need to put dishonour on her.'

Kam and I froze in shock. I'm not kidding you, what they said is the stuff of nightmares – the kind of thing fathers, brothers, uncles, and husbands...heck,  _anyone_  would be terrified to hear, let alone to hear it from the elders of your own village.

I chanced a glance back at the mother and daughter and saw them looking at each other wide-eyed.

'We have to hurry,' we said, simultaneously. I reached for the heavy door bolt and realised it wasn't locked. We pushed it open and my heart sank.

* * *

_Kamran_

The man looked dead. His skin was pale and taut, and we couldn't see his chest rise.

'Ishy wouldn't have told us to get him if he was dead,' I said – and I'm still not sure if that was to convince George or myself. For all I knew at that point in time, Ishy was trying to make sure we weren't going to get hurt.

The man coughed and, no word of a lie, I felt a rush of life flare up inside me. Maybe I had been holding my breath or suppressing a panic or something but, anyway, we hurried over to him and as we helped him up into a seated position he kept coughing about his wife and daughter, asking us to help them. He didn't seem to hear or understand us when we told him they were going to be okay.

George lifted him into a fireman's carry and I made sure the way was clear. We stepped out and stopped in our tracks as we saw Ishy walking towards the small crowd.

' _"And when My servants ask you concerning Me, then surely I am very near; I answer the prayer of the supplicant when he calls on Me, so they should answer My call and believe in Me that they may walk in the right way."_

'My sisters have been praying to Allah Subhanahu wa ta'aala and it seems He has sent me to help them.'

The villagers stared at him as he walked towards the gathering. The young man scoffed and signalled to a few of his friends and one of them approached Ishy. Actually, 'approach' is putting it politely. He barrelled up to Ishy, swung his hand back and slapped him.

Ishy admitted to us later that he had strongly considered not turning his face with the slap, that he had considered allowing the man's hand to break against his face, but it was only for a moment. Still, the man roared and fell to his knees, clutching his hand to his chest, and the villagers gaped.

* * *

_George_

Ishy kept walking and he repeated the verse he had recited and repeated what he had said. This time another of the thuggish villagers came at him with a lathi – which is, basically, a long stick that tends to get used a lot as a weapon both by the police and in movies. There was a humming sound as he swung the stick, and then the sound of splintering wood. This time there was movement among the villagers. A bit of fear and awe at what they were seeing.

He repeated the verse and what he had said a third time and then stood in front of the slick-haired youth. He towered over Ishy and I could tell from the way his fingers were flexing that he was torn between slapping Ishy with the back of his hand or punching him.

'We don't know who you are and we don't care,' he said.

One of the elders stood up and said, 'This is a village matter. You have no place here.'

'This is a matter of insaniyat,' Ishy said, as he stared the young man straight in the eye, 'and you are all less than animals.'

Hearing this, most of the other elders stood up, outraged at the words Ishy was throwing at them. 'Who do you think you are to come here and make such a scene?' For me, though, it was the reaction of the other villagers that was more interesting –  _they_  looked ashamed, and some of them even looked relieved that Ishy was calling them out on all this, and the smile on a couple of the elders who had remained seated...they were the most interesting of all.

'Someone who has seen a wrong and is seeking to right it.'

'The wrong,' scoffed the youth, 'was her rejecting my proposal. The wrong was her and her mother using their magic on us.'

'The wrong,' replied Ishy, 'is you trying to force her. The wrong is you not being able to take 'no' for an answer. The wrong is you attempting to kill her father-'

'Aare chor chor (Ah, leave it), this stupid boy has come here to accuse me of trying to murder Uncle Azam. Me? We saved him. My friends are witnesses.'

'You friends are witnesses to your failure. To each of you falling and burning, and I am witness to it all.'

'You? Filthy liar-' and Ishy pushed him to one side and into a mound of cowpats.

* * *

_Kamran_

'" _And those who accuse a woman and then do not bring four witnesses, flog them, eighty lashes, and do not admit any evidence from them ever; and these are the ones who are the transgressors."'_  The witnesses before you are colluders and  _I_  bear witness that they are liars.

'Your testimony means nothing,' said one of the elders as he leant on his staff. 'We do not know you and do not care to.'

'And you think you can mete out justice with such closed-mindedness?'

'Your brutish behaviour does you no favours.'

'I have done nothing-'

The old man gestured at the guy in the pile of cowpats, the other one writhing on the floor, and the third one still staring at the thick and broken stick in his hand.

'Yet they were the ones who attacked me.'

'They challenged a mad boy uttering madness.'

Ishy hissed. 'Astraghfirullah, how can you call the ayats of Allah Subhanahu wa ta'aala 'madness'?'

The old man shrugged. 'We are not hafiz. We do not know if the words you spoke are from the Qur'an. You came as a mad man, now leave as a foolish boy.'

Ishy ignored him and turned to face the villagers. 'Brothers and sisters, please forgive my intrusion, but I cannot stand by and allow such a wrong to be committed. You do not know me, this is true, but I have been raised to speak the truth and have been raised to hold the Qur'an and the Sunnah of our Rasool close to my heart. What you are doing here, and what was ordered by these men, is against both.

'I see you have a masjid here, but while someone else in my position might plead to you as a Muslim and in the name of Islam, since your elder has made it clear that you are not properly aware of the deen and the Qur'an and the Sunnah, I plead to you in the name of humanity and what is decent. I ask you if what was ordered by them today is right. I ask you if you would uphold it if the sentence was pronounced against your daughter or your wife.'

'The punishment is what our forefathers would have decreed, and if it was fine with them then it holds now,' said the old man, his eyes on Ishy but his words addressing the village.

Ishy shook his head and turned to face the Council again. 'Am I to believe that you would decree such a sentence on your own daughter?'

The man chuckled. 'I was not so unfortunate as to have the burden of a daughter.'

'Astaghfirullah. Don't you know that a daughter is a gift and a blessing from Allah? That she is a father's gateway to Heaven? That she brings him honour and solace?'

'Girls bring nothing but trouble.'

'And your wife?'

'Even more trouble. Women are a burden.'

'Yet you would not be here without one. You think so lowly of your own mother?'

'What would a stupid boy like you know about the mind of a man,' he growled, forcing himself to stand taller.

'I know that one who does not realise that Heaven lies at the feet of one's mother is not a man. I know that one who does not know of the rights of a girl or a woman is not a man.'

And the old man spat at him.

* * *

_George_

'" _But when they are told, "Follow what God has bestowed from on high," some answer, "Nay, we shall follow that which we found our forefathers believing in and doing." Why, even if their forefathers did not use their reason at all, and were devoid of all guidance?"_

And he recited and translated, and a man sent his daughter to fetch his old Urdu translation.

'Sending a girl. Na-mard (not a man),' muttered one of the other elders – derogatory of the man even being a man – and the man stepped forward and said, 'If I send my daughter to do something for me it is of no concern of yours.'

To be honest, that remark of the elder confused me – these types of people make their daughters fetch and work for them all the time, why was it an issue now? What difference would it have made if a boy had gone to get his father's book?

Another stepped forward and pointed at the Council and then gestured at the rest of the villagers. 'And if I send mine to school it is most certainly no concern of any of you.'

The first man nodded, and so did a few of the women.

_'"...and so, whenever they commit a shameful deed, they are wont to say, "We found our forefathers doing it," and, "God has enjoined it upon us." Say: "Behold, never does God enjoin deeds of abomination. Would you attribute unto God something of which you have no knowledge?"_

'Over and over again, He warns you, warns us, against following and upholding the abominable acts of our forebears. Over and over again, He advises us to be better, to elevate ourselves, yet you brazenly sit there and declare the horrific and disgusting act that you have sentenced to be something decreed by God?!'

And then the cowpat covered youth lunged at him and threw the vial of acid, and everyone was silent and some covered their eyes. The youth laughed and turned to the people as he wiped bits of cowpat off himself. 'Barra aya tha sikanay' (this bit is actually hard to translate – it basically means 'he came here to teach' but the beginning is derogatory and dismissive, like 'look at this guy or loser thinking he could come teach us something'. I suppose the closest would be 'who does he think he is to try to teach us', but there is a phrase that pretty much says that, and that's not what this guy said). Anyway, he's wiping himself down and then he realises that there are no screams coming from Ishy, and turns around and sees Ishy with his hands cupped and clothes steaming.

'If I blew this at you, what do you think would happen?'

The guy almost tripped over himself as he tried to move away from him. 'Nothing. It's just water. Clearly just water. Everyone can see that.' And then he yelped as a few drops hit the ground and hissed.

'Clearly.'

'It was just a joke. It-'

'It was something you wanted to use on her, to steal away her beauty because she slighted you.'

There was a murmur building in the crowd – confusion and awareness. Confusion as to how on Earth Ishy wasn't getting burnt by the acid, and an awareness that he was right about the youth's intentions.

'Shaytani bacha!' cried out one of the elders, pointing at Ishy, and I sighed really heavily. It was bound to be the kind of accusation that would be put forward, and we had all known that it was going to happen at some time or another: devil child.

Ishy took in a breath and the young man screamed in terror. The ground bubbled and sizzled as Ishy opened his hands and let the acid fall.

We stayed there for a couple of hours, as Ishy sat on the raised platform the elders were accustomed to and talked to everyone. The police arrived an hour or so after we called, and they had heeded our request for an ambulance. As we left Kam and I could only wonder if we had made any difference at all, or if we had just stalled the inevitable. It was clear that there were things that were so ingrained in these people – things they considered 'traditions' and 'values', and that they believed 'proper'...things they had folded into their religion and were no longer able to separate from it.

'One person at a time, that's all we can do,' said Ishy as we left.

Just because he was right, though, doesn't make it easier to accept. I've had better results in uncovering a child trafficking ring than Ishy had been having in affecting change among these people. For every one who embraced what he taught there were probably a dozen who dismissed it.

* * *

_Kamran_

'We should camp here,' said Ishy suddenly. 'We'll arrive in Kirthar early tomorrow, but let's camp here and get some rest.'

George and I certainly weren't going to disagree – it had been a long day, and quite the emotional rollercoaster, too. As always, Ishy had everything set up before either of us had even taken off our backpacks, and he was gone again. We were pretty sure he had headed back to make sure things were okay in the villages we had been through.

As we ate, George and I talked. The more I got to know him the more I liked him, but I still wasn't comfortable around him, and that was actually making me feel guilty – and I think there was even some resentment from me towards him at him making me feel that way.

Almost every night since we had left the house in Karachi we had been telling each other stories about our pasts, but there was nothing I had ever been through that could really compare to all the things George had seen and done. War zones, people trafficking, child slavery...he had seen so much darkness but the guy was still able to laugh. I'm being absolutely straight with you as I tell you this: I really hoped that George's ability to laugh despite all he had seen and been through was something that would rub off on Ishy. Ishy was becoming too dark, too broody, and it didn't suit him. I missed the laughter and the banter.

I missed my little brother.

Oh, let me tell you about what George talked about that night. About his clash with his best friend over his defence against Muslims, and what he ended up losing because of it. They had been talking about 'the evils of Islam and the Muzlims' and I'm pretty sure that George gave me a sanitised version of what they had said to each other. A lot of it were things I had heard and discussed in conversations and debates back in London, but it was kind of nice hearing it coming from him. I can't do the voices the way George or Ishy can, but here goes:

_'Look, a Muslim man can accuse a woman of adultery and the people just go out and stone her. How is that not barbaric? How is it a 'religion of peace' if that's what it teaches? If that's what it advocates?'_

_'Sam, that's just not true. Yes, there are Muslim men who do and have done that but it isn't what the religion teaches.'_

_'You've spent too long embedded with them, George. You can't see right from wrong.'_

_'That's not fair, Sam. I'm telling you – I've spoken to these people - spent time with them - the scholars and teachers, and-'_

_'If they truly believe it to be wrong then why are they not out there telling everyone? They jump up and down when something they don't like is being said but they shut up tight about this stuff.'_

_'Have you ever been to a mosque?'_

_'What's that got to do with anything?'_

_'You've never been. On a Friday. Friday's the main day, like our Sunday. Friday is when their priest, their imam, stands on the pulpit and gives a sermon.'_

_'So? I don't know Arabic and don't care for it, either.'_

_'You don't have to know. This is America, Sam, there are plenty of mosques here where they teach in English. Plenty where the teach their congregation the same values you and I hold dear.'_

_'Are you turning into one of them? Is this why you're all sympathetic about them?'_

_'Why are you being like this?'_

_'Good people have died because of them. Innocent people. More are going to die because of them, too. They're a powder keg just waiting to explode._

_'Can you look me in the eye and tell me their Book_ _doesn't_ _tell them to kill people like you and me.'_

_'Yes, I can. It's not as simple as-'_

_'You're a fool, George. I thought you were better than this.'_

_'I thought you were, Sam.'_

'We haven't spoken since. It's been five years. I miss my nieces. I know they're not really my nieces, but you know what I mean.'

'Lolo...and?'

'Lucy. You can never call Lolo 'Lolo', though. I used to be able to but I don't think I ever can now, either. Sam and I were best friends, and even when he went and joined the army we kept in touch. I think he's going to be a general soon. Lolo...I don't know why but she seemed to latch on to me from the day she was born. Maybe it was because Sam was disappointed in having a daughter and she could tell, I don't know, but she's like the daughter I never had.'

'Why didn't you get married?'

'I just...never had the urge to settle down, I guess. There was a time,' he heh'd to himself, 'there was a time, a long time ago, when I would have gladly gotten married, but now...I just don't think it's me.'

'You never know, right?'

'Nah, you pretty much get to know whether you will or not. I don't think it's in my cards.' He leaned back and stretched a little. 'Not in my kismat, as you'd say, right?'

I took a sip of the tea before replying. 'Right.'


	9. Odyssey (part 5)

_Clark Kent – online submission on the_ Daily Star _news site_

_There is, to put it politely, a quirk about the current state of Pakistani society: there is pretence of hating acts of violence that are directed against populations and peoples of its own faith and ideology, but there is, it seems, no hesitance in using those same acts of violence, generously and copiously, against its own people._

_In the short time I have been wandering this otherwise beautiful country there are a few things that have become apparent:_

-  _The civilising influence of education has been stymied. Where once there was the desire to use education to bring the country up in a unified way, now the focus is more on the individual and what they can do for themselves._

-  _There is a revival of the barbaric methods of old. Where once they had been countered and overcome by the laws of religion, now there is a kind of arrogance that has been nurtured by feudal mentalities and traditions._

_As an outsider looking in, my view will likely be readily dismissed. While it's true that my upbringing might be considered sheltered, having grown up on a farm hours away from the nearest city, there are still certain things – certain wrongs – that are quite apparent across the spectrum, within the cities and towns, and down to the small villages tucked away here and there._

_While there is outrage expressed at the burning of buildings in Iraq, some of those same 'outraged' people will readily do the same to people here._

_While disdain is expressed at the Western practice of placing parents and other elderly relatives in the old peoples' home, some of those expressing such disdain are disrespectful and even abusive towards their own parents and elderly relatives._

_In my brief wanderings so far, I have come across people torturing others and torturing others in the presence of their families. I have come across people gladly – and it is a disservice to say this, but – even animalistically set about bringing public humiliation and dishonour to women._

_My colleagues – my travel buddies – have told me that this isn't something exclusive to this part of the world. One has even said that, in America, someone (usually a woman) is sexually assaulted every two minutes. I could see in their eyes how saddened my shock made them feel, but it begs the question: if this is the state of mankind across the planet then where is the humanity that keeps being touted and praised?_

* * *

_(Extracted and Transcribed from George Taylor's audio notes)_

Kirthar is something quite special. A lot of things in Pakistan are, and it's such a shame that the potential of the country is squandered by those who, frankly, should know better. I remember the first time I went to Murree – a hilly region near Islamabad. To the north of it are the slopes of the Western Himalayas, and the Tudorbethan architecture is quite a surprising sight for many people from the Western world. Years ago, the British set it up as a sanatorium for their troops garrisoned over at the Afghan border. I know Sam would be surprised to know that there are churches in the town, and that they're still used  _as_ churches. Actually, no, he wouldn't be surprised...he just wouldn't believe me if I told him.

Anyway, plus points about Murree – even though it's about a thousand miles away from Kirthar – are the views. They're breathtaking. I'm not much of a romantic, but even I could see why this place had such an appeal to visitors from all over Europe back in the day. The way it sometimes seemed as if you were stepping into clouds as you were walking; being able to see the mountains of Kashmir...and the irony, to me, was that it reminded me of Milford Sound over in New Zealand. As I stood there I just wondered how it was that a place as gorgeous as this was basically now 'off the maps' for most of those who want to see the world. How it was that such sights were going to be unseen by so many...

I'm telling you this right now: if Pakistan sorts itself out then it would have a booming tourist industry and economy – and not just from the expats visiting, I mean from people across the world who want to see the world.

If it sorts itself out.

Sorry, this was supposed to be about Kirthar and I let myself go off on a tangent. Kirthar is the second largest national park in Pakistan, and it is so different to the greens and hills and trees of Murree. It's different to Karachi, too, obviously. It's in the Sindh region and has a wealth of animals living and wandering through it. I had been through it a couple of times before, but this 'by foot' expedition is opening my eyes to a lot of things around me and I'm starting to notice animals and movements I hadn't paid any attention to when I was here before.

I would like to think that Ishy planned it this way – the move from the chaos of Karachi and shifting down to the quiet and nature of the park - but I'm not sure. I actually do think he felt lost and was looking for a way to find himself somehow.

* * *

_(Extracted and Transcribed from Kamran's video notes)_

I'm  _really_  not the camping type. Maybe I'm too used to the modern conveniences, or something? I just don't like the idea of being in a sleeping bag on the floor...on the ground...surrounded by creepy crawlies. Who knows what might go in your mouth while you're asleep?!

I sometimes thought about doing things like the  _'Duke of Edinburgh Award'_  thing back at school, but other than it looking good on my CV I couldn't see the overall point in it. Sure, there are some life skills I might not otherwise know, but there are other ways of finding them rather than trekking through hills and forests and not being able to wash your hands properly.

I'm really,  _really_  not the camping type. There are weird noises all around and I wish I had Ishy's self-control or whatever it is that lets him almost ignore these sounds. How the heck do people put up with it? Give me a nice, comfy and reasonably quiet room any day!

I'm pretty sure we're going to run out of toilet paper soon, too.

I'm complaining again. I don't mean to...I think I'm tired more than anything. Not physically...emotionally...mentally. Back in London, there seemed to be a cycle of news: abused wife kills husband; neighbour was a paedophile; celebrity was an abusive pervert, and so on. As close as they were to aspects of my life, there was always a distance. There was a kind of 'thank God so-and-so wasn't like that' and 'I'm sure I'd be able to spot someone with these kinds of tendencies'. Back in London, I was naive. Back in London, I had some kind of hope.

I don't like this world anymore. I don't like the way it's turned out. I don't like the truths it keeps showing me.

Maybe I should rephrase that: I don't like  _our_  world. I don't like the world we humans have made. I don't like it because the more I look at it the uglier it seems. The world itself, though, is amazing –  _that_  is something I've always thought and believed, and now it feels more so. Sure, I never liked camping and probably never will, but I was always fascinated by the things around us. It was only a few moments after we stepped across the borders of the park that the amazing, confident, awed, and sometimes conspiratorial voice of one of my favourite people in the all the world began to 'play' in my head. It's not a crazy thing – I reckon lots of people do it...it's associative and, when it comes to nature, he's always been my go-to guy and probably always will be.

Maybe you can hear him, too, if I try to do his voice:

'The Chinkara is a shy animal. It doesn't come near camps and in the park they tend to be found, if you're lucky enough to see them, in the more protected areas. It's a species of gazelle and they are scattered from Iran, through Pakistan and over to India. Light and nimble, they sometimes dash across the desert. They're declining in number but they're still not considered to be threatened...yet. They're shy and avoid humans, but-'

Holy sheeooot! Okay, okay, this is awesome! Somehow Ishy's brought four of them to us. He didn't pick them up and bring them along, no, he is  _playing_  with them and they chose to come with him.

Look!

Subhanallah!

* * *

_(Extracted and Transcribed from George Taylor's audio notes)_

I thought it was going to be weird having these-

Okay, you know what? They're cute. They are absolutely gorgeous and I  _love_  the fact that they're comfortable hanging with us. Your heart can't help but melt as they brush alongside you and give you nudges. I do wish I had their resilience, though, because they seem to barely drink anything and all this walking is making me so thirsty.

There's something I have to speak about...something...

Okay, look, I love dogs – I'm a bloody American, of course I love dogs – but I have heard and seen how some people treat them in this part of the world, and it's not pleasant. Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of people here who treat dogs really well and clearly love them as much as we do, but there are those sickos who just seem to have a rage-on against them. Any of them.

I'm not being fair, though...we have the same issues among us, too. Dog fights, abuses...it's just, for me, when I hear how some people with...you know, for a reporter I'm not doing a good job of putting this into words.

Wait, let me go back a bit.

We had been walking and camping in the park for four days, and I think the three of us had started to bond...after...well, after a bit of a hard...after a  _necessary_ series of question and answer sessions brought about by yours truly.

The chinkara had decided, I guess, to accompany us but they were getting antsy and it was only then that Kam and I knew that something might be wrong, or might go wrong. Ishy, though, he was as cool as a bloody cucumber. I suppose being pretty much invulnerable and having superhearing makes things easier for him, but I couldn't and can't help but think he had been a bit of a git by not giving us a heads up.

(Hmm...'git'...maybe Kam's rubbing off on me.)

My pocket guide calls it a Dhole but the locals call it a 'jungli-kuta' – a jungle dog, basically. There's no denying that that's what it is, though, but I guess I had gotten used to the use of that term as a derogatory one about someone being a bit savage. We knew they were out there but Kam and I had...we had gotten too comfortable with the walking and observing the various things that were catching our attention, and the relative quiet, and I guess we forgot.

The chinkara to my left nudged me quite hard, and I bumped into Kam, who had been nudged in by the chinkara to his right. We weren't quite on speaking terms and both of us stepped away from each other, only for the chinkaras to nudge us back again.

'That's interesting,' said Ishy, walking just ahead of us.

'What is?' we asked, pretty much in unison.

'We're kind of being herded,' he said – and I could swear there was a cheery sound to his voice!

'Not to worry, just something interesting to see.'

I don't like guns, but there have been a couple of times on this trip where I wished I had one. Not to use, though, just...to put people off from thinking we're an easy target. And we're not an easy target, I know, but we can't just rely on Ishy, right? He dashes off quite often – although less so now than when we were going through the city and the villages – and who knows what might happen while he's away?

I don't like guns, but this 'herding' Ishy was talking about made me uncomfortable, and made me want to have one to hand.

* * *

_(Extracted and Transcribed from Kamran's video notes)_

I suppose I have had a bit of a...protected life, overall. Kept away from those who may have been of a negative influence – the bicycle gangs who hung out in the park, the various kinds of rebellious kids – some might readily say I have a bit of naivety to me. I would disagree with their conclusion, of course, but I can't deny that there are some things I don't know, and there are some things I don't care to know. I don't think that that makes me 'naive', though.

At home, in London, there were a lot of things, growing up, that I didn't do - that I 'missed out' on because of one thing or another. In the village there were other things I missed out on – usually because I'm 'from abroad, so wouldn't like them'. So I never learnt how to milk a cow or harvest some sugar cane or things like that, and I never learnt how to skate or rollerblade, and I also never learnt which animals made which sound...

It was getting dark, edging towards Maghrib time – which was when we always made camp – when the 'coo-coo' sounds started and the chinkara on my right reared. My feet felt stuck to the ground, and my legs were shaking. The 'coo-coos' hadn't been this close before, and not at this time of day, either.

'It's okay,' said Ishy, firmly. 'A few more minutes and we'll be in a good place to make camp.'

'But what about those noises?' I asked.

'We'll be okay. I promise.' He turned to face us and then held out his hands to the chinkara. They walked over to him and he stroked them and soothed them. We walked on at a slightly slower pace than before, which, frankly, was a little frustrating, but a little hard to get around when you have four chinkara clamouring for the attention of a teenager.

A few minutes later and Ishy said we should make camp. George and I both looked back and couldn't really see any difference from where we had been to where we were now, but, despite being unnerved by the piercing howls around us, we began our preparations. When we were done, Ishy and I stepped to the side and prayed Maghrib.

As they had done on the previous nights, the chinkara settled around us and allowed us to lean against them. Tonight, though, they were quite restless and kept jerking and looking around.

'Any idea why they're active at this time?' George asked as he tended to the stew he was making on the small fire.

'It's probably because of our group of travelling companions,' Ishy replied. 'They probably caught their attention.'

'What's out there?' I asked – I'm really, really not clued up on animals, to be honest, and I hadn't bothered asking about the 'coo-coos' before.

'Dholes,' said Ishy, standing up and scanning the quickly darkening area. One of the things I didn't like about being 'one with nature' was the thick darkness that seemed to wrap around you. It was different in the village, we had little lamps we could carry around – although most people had powerful torches these days, too, I loved the smell of the paraffin lamps.

'Are they something we should be worried about?' George and Ishy looked at me as I had said something amusing.

'They tend to avoid humans,' said George.

'So do chinkara, but we've got four of them here, and you've also said that them being around at this time isn't the norm, either.'

'They're just wild dogs.'

'Okay...but they can be dangerous, right?'

'I think I read somewhere that a pack once took down an elephant or something. Maybe it was a bear.' He said it with such seriousness that I couldn't tell if he was being deadpan about it.

'There are eight of them out there, but they probably won't come much closer,' said Ishy as he dusted his kurtha and sat down.

'Speaking of wild dogs,' said George. He ladled some of the stew into a bowl and passed it to me.

'Yes?'

'This...ah...this whole 'aversion to dogs' thing really makes a lot of people uncomfortable.'

'Yeah...I always wanted a dog when I was growing up,' I said, stirring the stew and watching the steam rise.

'So why didn't you?'

'Not allowed.'

'See, I just don't get that.'

'They're not considered clean, so a lot of people avoid them.'

'What makes them so unclean?'

I shrugged. It really hadn't been something I had given much thought to. Pigs were unclean, so I figured it was probably something along those lines for dogs, too.

'It's their saliva that's considered unclean,' said Ishy. 'Dogs themselves are fine – stroking them, playing with them...if dogs were bad then Allah (swt) would have told us. He doesn't, though. In fact, in Surah Kahf, He specifically mentions a dog being with a small group of believers.'

'Don't forget the prostitute who was forgiven her sins because she gave water to a thirsty dog,' I offered, glad to be more than just a listener for once.

'Yeah, but, what about all those people who say dogs are evil?' asked George.

Ishy suddenly stood up, startling the chinkara. 'Bolder than I thought they would be,' he said, softly, and then stepped away from our small circle. I could hear growls nearby but it was too dark to see anything else. Suddenly, there was a kind of circle of fire around us, and I realised Ishy had dashed around and placed small fires in a wider circle. The light from those fires increased our visibility, but the darkness still swallowed everything beyond.

'It's not even a full moon,' said George, looking up at the sky. 'They usually need good light to hunt with. They're not really night time animals.'

'Yeah, well, there seems to be a lot of things not behaving normally around here,' I said, as I rubbed my hand into the dry earth. I'd spilt my stew over my hand when I had scrambled to my knees. It's embarrassing, but these things happen, right?

The 'KaKaKaKAA' cries scared the pants off me, and I clawed into the ground and my vision spun and I couldn't breathe.

* * *

_(Extracted and Transcribed from George Taylor's audio notes)_

'Dogs aren't evil,' said Ishy, as he pushed the two attacking dholes back and away from us. Two of the chinkara were standing now. They didn't bolt, but their legs were shaking. I wished I had their speed...and I wished I had a gun as I saw eyes flash in the darkness.

'That certainly isn't what some people say,' I said, my eyes searching the ground for anything I could use as a weapon, and the growls and KaKaKaKaas sending shivers down my spine. I saw Kam hunched on the floor, shivering, and I realised how new all this must be for him.

'They're  _not_  evil,' he repeated, as he casually threw the pair towards the other six who had been holding back. He didn't turn to look at me, or at Kam. He kept his attention on the pack that was slowly trying to surround us. 'You accused me of playing with words before, so you'll probably do the same now.'

'I don't see how much leeway you can have with 'do not keep dogs in the home'.' Inside, part of me was arguing with myself:  _why the heck are you having a debate about Islam and dogs while being attacked by wild dogs? What's wrong with you, man?_  Fear makes us say, do, and think the oddest things at the most inopportune moments...

'Ah, that.'

'Yes, 'that'.'

'Pluto lives in a dog house,' said Kam. He was crouched on the floor, his brow glistening with sweat, and his hand held almost protectively on the neck of the chinkara next to him.

'What? Who?' Ishy asked, confused.

'Oh, sorry,' Kam shook his head. 'He's a cartoon dog. There are a lot of dogs in comics, cartoons, television shows and movies that live in kennels or dog houses.'

'Yeah, but they're allowed in the home,' I rebuffed.

'Sure, now and then, but it's pretty clear that they don't  _live_  in the house. They're interacted with but still apart.'

'Look, dogs and humans have been companions for thousands of years. There's a reason why they're called 'man's best friend'.'

'That isn't even an issue. There's nothing in Islam which denies that.'

'Doesn't..? What part of 'not allowed in the house' is accepting of the companionship of dogs?' It was hard not to shout out when another two of the pack leapt at Ishy. I almost turned away when I heard his clothes tear.

'Kam just pointed out that in the west dogs were often kept outside of the home,' he said, grunting a little.

''Were' being the operative word.'

'Wait,' he said, turning to face us. 'So something that's considered  _a_  norm in some parts of the world  _now_  – parts of the world you're in agreement with – is the deciding factor as to whether that thing is right or wrong? So it's wrong, you feel, that Mexico, for example, has variable consent ages?' He turned back around and caught a leaping dhole, and then tossed it back at the pack.

'Variable?'

'In some states it's  _puberty_ , in others it's 12. In the US, in Delaware, it used to be 7.'

'That was years ago!'

'Connecticut says that a 13 year old can sleep with a 15 year old.'

'This is making me really uncomfortable, and I can't see what this has to do with dogs and how Muslims treat them.'

_'_ _Some_  Muslims.'

'Is this going to become a 'not all men' kind of thing?'

'I hope not, because then you're ignoring the fact that  _some_ people –  _non-Muslims_ – treat dogs in absolutely  _horrific_  ways. Look, regardless of the fact that dogs are not supposed to be kept in the home, they  _have_  to be fed, cleaned, maintained and so on  _properly_.'

'Why? It's not like you can keep them as pets.'

'In essence? Because it's the right thing to do. If you're going to keep a dog then you have to house it, like in the kennels and dog houses Kam mentioned. You have to provide food and water for it, and make sure it is exercised properly.

'There are many narrations of the punishments that those who abuse dogs and other animals will receive-'

'So? There are narrations where instructions were given to kill dogs.'

'And narrations where the instructions were given to  _leave them be_. One example was when some dogs urinated in the masjid.'

'What? They were left alone?'

'Exactly that. Some of the companions were outraged at the dogs doing their business in the masjid but the Prophet (saw) told them to leave them and then helped clean up after them.'

'There's no way that would happen these days.' I found it hard to believe that something like that had happened, but I knew one thing with absolute certainty: Ishy wouldn't lie to me about this kind of thing.

'Well, back then there were no carpets in the masjid,' said, turning his head and leaning back as one of the dhole snapped away at him. I couldn't tell if he was saying that in a jestful manner, but it kind of made sense that he would be. Then he added, as he dashed towards our left to block another dhole and the dust kicked up around him: 'The floor was the ground, much like this.'

'And the killing instructions?'

'Were specific. The narrations refer to black dogs, and, yes, there have been many Muslims, over the years, who have taken that to mean  _all_  black dogs. There are other narrations that refer to these dogs as, basically, being rabid.'

'Rabid? Seriously?'

'Now, here's where you can step in and accuse me of playing with words: the words or term translated as 'black dogs' is also, to this day, used when referring to animals like hyenas and jackals.'

He didn't say anything more, and maybe he felt he didn't have to. As I watched him wrestle with the pack of dholes. It made sense, I suppose: there were wild dogs back then, too, and they could wander into a place like Madinah...and if they were rabid...that all made sense, but:

'Why such an aggressive and abusive attitude towards them to this day?'

Ishy heaved and tossed four of the dholes back and away from our little campsite. The other four moved back – two of them cowered a little. 'I don't know. The Prophet (saw) always advised to take a middle path...I wonder if maybe an aspect of zealousness became wrapped up the approach people had.'

'Superstition probably didn't help, either,' said Kam as he leaned against the chinkara. Lots of places in the world have black dogs as bad omens...people may have grabbed onto those kinds of things, too. Justified things somehow.'

The dhole were silent, but they slowly made their way towards us.

'The Prophet (saw) said that that those who came after the Companions would have a better understanding of many of the things he spoke about and did – things which might not have made sense back then make sense now with the increased knowledge of science and other things.' Ishy stepped forward and held out his hand, and one of the dholes sniffed it tentatively.

'This whole 'no dogs as pets' thing just feels so wrong.'

'We're going to have to agree to an impasse on this, aren't we?'

It was bloody hard to actually either take him seriously or believe he was being humorous about all this as he sat there scratching the dholes' necks. His clothes were torn but there wasn't a scratch on him, and the dholes...well, they weren't exactly peaceful now, and the chinkara certainly weren't at ease, but it was pretty clear they weren't going to do anything to us so long as Ishy was around.

And the dhole made me completely forget that there are leopards around here!


	10. Interlude (1)

_Extract from the missives and notes of AJL_

I did feel some guilt in doing what I did – not because the deed itself was bad but because of the element of betraying someone I had grown to respect and, to a certain degree, admire. I did feel some guilt, but I did what needed to be done, and for that, there is no guilt.

For a few years now, we've been exchanging ideas and emails and understanding. For a few years, I've been in touch with someone who, for lack of a better term, understands me - understands me and my 'crazy ideas'.

I never told him that I knew where he lived, mainly because, initially, I thought it was some kind of fake-out. Put colloquially: I mean, seriously? Pakistan? It was so ridiculously easy to trace him to that village that, for the first few times we communicated, I was convinced it was some kind of wishful honey-trap. Back then I thought that 'for all his intelligence, he didn't think to reroute and hide his signal', and then I realised he was only a child. Genius-level intellect, but just a child.

And now he's gone and I have no idea what happened.

I had some guilt in hacking into and commandeering government satellites, but it was a necessity. I still don't have enough funds to have satellites of my own, but I'm getting there. What I found, though, was that the village held absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. I had never used the satellites in this way in the years we were in touch because there had never been a need to, and I think if I had done so I would have been even more convinced that this was all some entrapment scheme.

The fact remained, though, as I used satellite after satellite, day after day, my friend was gone and there seemed to be no way of finding him.

He was a strange kid – for all his intelligence he believed in a God. I've no problem with higher beings, I just can't see there being a Supreme One – I don't like the idea of basically being a plaything. But he didn't mind it – he actually found it comforting.

'You know, humans glow and it's quite beautiful,' he told me one day, out of the blue.

'Glow?'

'Yes, they have a fluorescence. It's on a frequency we can't see at, of course, but it's there. Not infra-red, but an actual emission of electromagnetic radiation.'

He then he sent me notes and calculations and what I would need to use to observe it, and I sat there wondering how on Earth a kid in a village in Pakistan was coming up with this stuff, and providing calculations to prove it!

For more than a year I watched that village. For more than a year I didn't hear anything from him, and I grew convinced that some savage had abducted him for something nefarious. I was convinced someone was going to use him and make him do something bad.

No one believed me, though, because I had no proof.

The laptop he used to use, with the satellite uplink, was gone. No trace of it or its signals. I delved back into the forums we first met in and found a host of others – people I certainly wouldn't consider my peers, but of admirable gifts, I suppose – who were also expressing concern at the disappearance of one of us. It was something a few of us had voiced fear about when we first set up the forums: that someone might find us and either use us or kill us. Me? I always used to say 'let them come'.

And I think they came for him.

His ideas of using sand as an energy source; his designs for a super-efficient solar cell; his calculations for super-metals and durable cloths – of course someone would want to use him or kill him.

Oil companies for his fuel ideas. Textiles companies for the textiles. Sanitation and disposal companies for his purification and bio-fuel proposals.

The boy was going to change the world if it let him.

The boy is missing, so I'm going to change the world in his honour.


	11. Odyssey (part 6)

_(Extracted and Transcribed from Kamran's video notes)_

Look, I grew up watching things like the old black and white Tarzan movies, so this whole playing with chimpanzees and having lions as buddies was always a wishful fantasy and hopeful dream for me (and, yes, there were those racist taunts from some people...and I never could understand why a white guy who was brought up in the jungle was a 'heroic' character but a dark-skinned one to have lived there (other than Mowgli, for the most part) was 'backward' and 'animal-like') – but that doesn't mean I expected to be practically face-to-face with a leopard!

Sorry, that was quite the rant, wasn't it?

You might think it funny, or even curious – 'how could Kam be scared when he's got a real-life guardian angel with him?' It doesn't work like that. Fear doesn't work like that. Seeing a leopard a few feet away from you and no fence between you doesn't work like that!

...

Sorry. Sorry. I'm still a bit worked up...

The fact that I'm...really ticked off right now with George's nightly question rounds really didn't help when I spotted those yellow eyes watching me from the undergrowth...

I thought I was seeing things...and I still don't get why none of the chinkara or the dholes hanging with us didn't freak.

Like I said before, I'm really not cut out for this outdoor stuff. There's a reason why God put me on the earth in the 21st century rather than  _any_  time before then!

Look:

Leopards and chinkaras and dholes! Oh my!

I've lost count of the number of times Ishy's stopped a dhole or a leopard from attacking one of the chinkaras. Or me. Or George.

Somehow, this trip has turned into something like the old Dr Dolittle cartoon. I keep expecting Chee-Chee to turn up...and I wish there was a Too-Too around...

...I feel so out of place at times...I miss home.

I suppose one of these dholes could be a bit like Jip, but I'm not about to try and find out.

...maybe I do know why they didn't freak...and knowing just makes me feel even worse for freaking.

I think I'm going through some kind of crisis...I'm not supposed to be here...

* * *

 

_(Extracts from the coded journals of Ishy ibn Yusuf)_

I've been selfish throughout this trip. Selfish and venting.

I often think back to the verses from Surah Baqara, when the angels asked Allah (swt)  _'Why put on (Earth) one who will cause corruption on it and shed blood when we glorify You with praise and proclaim your Purity?'_. I think back on those words and I wonder about their awareness of the nature of men. I wonder how they must have felt, knowing that mankind would commit these kinds of atrocities.

I think about those words and the question they put forward, but then, eventually, after all the raging and impotency, I focus on His reply to them:  _'I know what you do not know'_  and then I focus my attentions on the good – on the helpers and protectors and nourishers. I remember that the angels have prayed that those who believe be brought out of the darkness and into the light.

But it doesn't change the fact that I've been selfish, and venting. It doesn't change the fact that I'm hurting Bhai, even though that's the last thing I want to do.

The thing that's been getting to me is that everyone agrees that the world isn't ready for me. It's been eating away at me. There's so much I could do...the ideas I have...

But the world isn't ready.

Because...they would crumble? [note: it's unclear exactly what the coded word Ishy used here is as there is some disagreement with regards to translation, but this seems to be the best fit]

I've been childish with Bhai, and that has to stop.

* * *

_(Extracted and Transcribed from George's audio notes)_

The tension I mentioned earlier? The awkwardness I caused? I make no apologies for it – I know I could have gone about it differently, but it had to be done. I had to know.

'What makes you two, and the Mufti, so different from so many other Muslims in the world?'

''So many'?' Ishy repeated, his eyebrows slightly raised, and a small frown creasing his forehead.

'Well, it's hard to put a figure to it, but the reports from various intelligence agencies would suggest that there are tens of thousands, maybe even millions, who think and act in ways contrary to how you three are. Look at how many times you intervened in Karachi-'

''Thousands and maybe even millions'.' he repeated, and then turned slightly to Kam. 'Kam?'

He shrugged, and I think if I had Ishy's hearing I would have heard Kam's heart racing. Even with the low lighting from the small fire I could see the flashes of anger in his eyes. I'm not going to call it hate, but I think him feeling betrayed would make sense, and maybe even be a kind of...vindication for his general distrust of me since first meeting me in Karachi. I didn't mean it to be like this, but as I asked the questions I saw and realised how either of them, or both of them, would or could see it as an ambush on my part.

...yeah, I can see how I probably riled them up.

'Maybe there's a psychology to it?' Ishy put forward, when Kam didn't say anything. 'Certain aspects appeal to certain people. Certain desires become fulfilled under certain conditions. That those are areas people choose to focus on rather than the overall package.'

'You're playing with words now.'

'I'm just saying that maybe it's not so much that they  _understand_  it differently but that they are the kind of people that pick and choose that which suits them. They already have a certain mindset and are drawn to whatever it is that agrees with that mindset. I read online, for example, that there are those whose core belief is that because they profess that Jesus (as) is their Lord and Saviour then, no matter what heinous act they do, they are safe because he has taken on the burden of their sin. That sort of expiation and freedom appeals to certain kinds of people.'

'Well, they're wrong to think that.'

'Wouldn't they argue that you were wrong for believing them to be wrong?'

'What about with you guys, though?'

'Maybe you should narrow things down for now?'

'Okay, let's start with the misogyny,' I said, edging forward a little. On the other side of the flames, Kam groaned and slumped back onto his sleeping bag.

'Misogyny,' Ishy repeated. 'That's still a big area, George Bhai.'

'Look, in that other village you said something about daughters being a gate to heaven for their fathers.'

'Because they are.'

'Then why have there been so many people who have been abusive to their daughters? Or abusive to-'

'One bit at a time. Let's start small and build up from there.'

Ishy really irritates me now and then, and I know it gets to Kam, too. The guy's just too patient – it's...not human at times. I'm not being derogatory because of him being an alien, I'm just...argh...

'One of the things the Prophet (saw) said was that one of his purposes for being sent was as an emancipation for women.'

'How? I'll tell you this right now: if you said that to pretty much anyone else they would laugh in your face at the very least.'

'Various ways. One of his uncles, for example – a man who would be one of his greatest enemies later in life – when he heard that his brother's wife, the Prophet's (saw) mother, had given birth he freed the slave girl who had brought him the news.'

'Okay, pretend I don't know anything about Islamic history – that I only know bad stuff-'

I'm pretty sure Kam muttered 'not hard to imagine', but that might just be me adding to things. I don't know. He got up, though, and stepped into the darkness around our small camp.

'Okay,' said Ishy, and he paused briefly. 'The Prophet's (saw) father was called Abdullah and he was the son of Abdul Muttalib of the Hashimite family - which was one of the 'sub-tribes', I suppose you could say, of the Quraysh. Abdullah married Aminah and, a few months later, he went on a trading expedition in what's now known as Syria. There's nothing unusual about that, it was just the way things were back then and still are now. Aminah was pregnant, and Abdullah fell ill and passed away before he could return to Makkah.'

'Makkah? Not Mecca?'

'You can call it that if it's easier for you.'

'Okay, so his father passed away before he was born and his mum was..?'

'Around six months pregnant at the time. Since her husband passed away her father-in-law, Abdul Muttalib, took on the responsibility of caring for her. He had other sons and one of them was one who came to be known as Abu Lahab-'

''Came to be known as'?'

'Often people were given nicknames based on characteristics or relationships. Like how, when someone becomes a parent, they might be referred to as the father or mother of so-and-so.'

'Yeah, but they still have their actual name.'

'Of course, as did he. He just became more well-known by the nickname.'

'And he was okay with this nickname?'

'It means 'father of flame' and was originally given to him because of his charm and good looks. There was another man, a Companion of the Prophet (saw) who was known as 'the father of cats', but it's not like he actually fathered any.'

'Okay, so this uncle of his...go on...'

'One of his slave-girls – the woman I mentioned – came to him with the news that his brother's wife – or widow, rather – had given birth to a boy and, apparently, he was so happy at the news that he set her free.'

I refrained from making a joke about giving her clothes because I don't think Ishy would have gotten it.

'So there are some who use that incident as an example of how, even though it was only for one woman, the Prophet (saw) had been an immense benefit to her.'

'What happened to her afterwards?'

'She was the Prophet's (saw) foster-mother, or wet-nurse, for a while. When he was older the Prophet (saw) used to send her gifts and money. She passed away a few years after the Muslims had migrated to Madinah.'

'Okay, that's all well and good, I suppose, but that's not exactly a wide-reaching 'emancipation for women' thing.'

'No, it isn't. It was merely a start. A lot of things in life take time, and bringing about freedoms to women in a culture where they were, basically,  _things_ , would take more time. There were societal complexities and other things that needed to be addressed.'

'Sounds like a bit of a cop-out to me.'

'Says the guy who, hmm...comes from a country where there were pretty much no women in the Senate for most of its existence,' said Kam from somewhere in the darkness. 'And when was it that they got the right to vote?'

'That's...well, like Ishy said, there were societal complexities that needed to be addressed...'

'Exactly,' said Ishy, smiling.

'But look at the Muslims  _now_!'

'Let's look at the whole for a moment-'

'What happened with starting small?'

'Quite. Anyway, let's look at  _aspects_ of the whole, across the ages, and then we'll take a look at the 'here and now'. Let's look at some 'highlights', as it were. Like: the first established university, I believe, was set up by a Muslim woman; many of the initial teachers and scholars of Islam were women; thousands of the narrations collected over the years are via one woman; many of the other narrations have women in the chain-'

'You mean the Hadith collections?'

'Yes. And if the word of a woman was considered to be of no weight then there would be a  _huge_  number of the Hadith that we would never have known about. The fact that those Hadith exist and are studied, taught, and applied underlines that the female narrators were accepted and recognised.

'You've seen Bhai and I perform our ablutions, and we've taught you how to do it, too, but what many seem to overlook is that a  _female_  companion of the Prophet (saw), Rubiyya (may Allah (swt) be pleased with her), was considered to be the expert on it and even members of the Prophet's (saw) family would go to her to learn. That she is one of the key people for that aspect of daily Islamic practice.'

Kam stepped back into the light of the fire and made his way to his sleeping bag. He sat back against the chinkara that had taken a liking to him and, I think, looked up at the sky. He didn't look at either of us, but he said: 'You should both probably take into consideration the fact that quite a few of the world's  _current_  famous Qaris were taught by a woman.'

'They were?' Ishy asked, his eyes a little wide.

Kam nodded and then slid down and lay on his sleeping bag. 'They were. She passed away a few years ago, and she had one of the shortest chains with regards to the Qur'an, too.'

'Chains? Qaris?' I asked.

'A 'Qari' is a someone who recites the Qur'an according to the proper rules of Tajweed,' Kam answered. 'They're not necessarily a hafiz, or someone who knows the Qur'an by heart, but the way they recite is known for the beautiful melodies. The chain I'm referring to is a teacher-to-student one, and leads back to the Prophet (saw).

'Oh, and no narration or Hadith from a woman has ever been rejected. It's basically been said that no woman has been accused of fabricating a Hadith, but many men have been.'

'Okay,' I said, noting the growl in his voice and holding up my hands, 'I can see we're getting into a touchy area-'

'You're the one who brought it up.'

'Because it's important.'

'Yes, it is. But if all you're going to do is look at what certain people do rather than what is actually taught-'

'But there are people out there who  _do_  teach these kinds of things! Who  _do_  say that women shouldn't be seen or heard. Who tell people that it's wrong for a woman to work, or...dammit, Kam, you can't be blind to this!' I kicked at the dusty ground and coughed a little.

'Like the Jesus Army?'

'What?'

'In London, well, in the UK there's a group called the Jesus Army. It used to go around getting homeless people off the streets, even if was 'just for a weekend'. Took 'em up to some farm or something and invited their 'guests' to join their cult. The women there couldn't wear jeans or make-up.'

'Sorry, for a moment I thought you meant-'

'The Lord's Resistance Army? The band of Christians in Uganda that go around raping and pillaging?' Ishy flinched when Kam said this. 'The group that other Christians say is not representative of them and their beliefs?'

We were quiet for a little while, and then I continued, wanting to move away from the more aggressive talk we had drifted into and back to the...the smaller topic:

'What about his wife? From what I've heard and read she was a wealthy businesswoman, so how does that fit into this whole 'women were oppressed and demonised before Islam' thing? She had her own wealth, her own business...she had agency that many Muslim women don't have in the here and now.'

'Many  _women._   _Period_ ,' said Kam loudly, still lying back on his sleeping bag. I imagine that, as it seemed to be his habit, he had at least one arm over his head as he looked up at the sky, but the light from the fire didn't reach him so I don't know for sure. 'I know of and have read about plenty of women, non-Muslim, back in the UK, who can barely breathe without their husband or boyfriend saying they can.'

'That's different.'

'Yeah, it's always 'different' when it comes to people like you.'

'That's not fair, Kam.'

'Of course – church-going white guy beats his wife and kids and the story is a 'man beats wife and kids'. Some guy with a Muslim name and who has hardly ever seen the inside of his local masjid beats his wife and kids and it's ' _Muslim_  beats wife and kids'. It's only 'fair' that religion gets tossed into the story when it's a Muslim involved.'

'That's not what this is about. I  _know_  there are different interpretations, different approaches. I  _know_  that there is cultural influence-'

'And patriarchy.'

'And...wait, what?'

'Patriarchy. Almost everywhere you go that's pretty much what it comes down to. In Judaism you have this whole 'women can't learn the Torah' thing,' he grunted a little as he sat up. 'And everything they touch when they're on their period becomes unclean'. He looked into the fire, his eyes still refusing to meet mine. 'In Christianity, Paul made it clear women are subordinate to men and are not allowed to teach them. They even had  _debates_  as to whether women had souls and, if they did have souls, whether they were human souls or animal ones.'

'Kam-'

'In India, widows would get tossed onto their husband's funeral pyre-'

'Kam, come on, that's-'

'In Japan, her name would be written in red on her deceased husband's gravestone to show that she was 'a wife who was not dead yet'.

'It's basically what it all comes down to: men want to have power. 'Don't let her go to school; she'll have improper ideas' – utter rubbish. It's really 'don't let her learn because she'll be better than the boys',' he snarled.

I know it was stupid and unnecessary, but I couldn't help myself. We were silent again, with the only sound being the crackling of the fire. If I was in any way poetic, I'd liken the fire to be analogous to the nature of what we were going through. But I'm not really a poetic kind of guy...I know, for my part, I wanted to ask him more, find out what had brought about that outburst, but I also knew that our...fellowship...was on tenterhooks and I didn't dare risk pushing things, but, at the same time, I somehow couldn't help myself, and I said: 'not all men are like that...'

He didn't say anything and the fire crackled away, but he looked at me and I could see the accusation in his eyes.

'There were some women in the pre-Islamic period who...escaped the oppression the others went through.' Ishy said, breaking the silence. 'There were some who, like Khadijah, may Allah be pleased with her, were able to thrive and were acknowledged and respected. It wouldn't be disingenuous of me to say they were 'the exception to the rule', but it's fair to say that these few exceptions are often grabbed onto by some people-'

'As if to say,' Kam interrupted, ''look, those Muslim apologists don't tell you about this, so they must be lying about the positive changes in the treatment of women that Islam brought about'. Yeah, right, like Khadijah (ra) being a wealthy widow was something kept secret.'

'So it's something widely known? Among Muslims, I mean?'

'Of course it is. Just as it's known she was older than him and that they were together for more than 20 years, until she passed away. But just because she was wealthy and successful, it doesn't change the fact that female infanticide was widespread among the Arabs. It doesn't change the fact that daughters, girls, and wives were often considered, acknowledged and  _known_ as burdens. Doesn't change the fact that some considered them a 'necessary evil' – after all, it's not like they could have kids without them, right? - or that this whole approach was pretty much a global thing.

'You said, a few minutes ago, about 'not all men', but here you have the 'not all women' supposed 'defence' being raised. Like, you have people pointing out high ranking women in Ancient Rome and saying 'see? Not all women were used, abused, and discarded back then'. The relative handful of women across the ages who didn't have something like that happen to them doesn't change the fact that millions upon millions of women did and still do have disgusting things happen to them.'

We didn't talk much that night after that, but it was clear to me that this...'topic' was something Kam was quite passionate about.

* * *

_Extract from an online submission on the_ Daily Star  _news site by George Taylor and Clark Kent_

_There are elements of chaos in almost every major city in the world, and while these elements have been neutralised or otherwise well-countered by planners, engineers, and right-thinkers in the major cities in the 'developed' world, there is, unfortunately, much more to do across the developing world. In Lahore, the third largest city in Pakistan, the frequent power and water outages and the lack of proper traffic systems in the majority of the city undermines the progress it has made in various pockets._

_'_ _Lahore keeps going because of the fire of the Punjabis,' say some of the locals, shrugging off the regular 12-hour outages. 'Punjabans are strong and we just keep going.' Although this is the attitude of some of the city's inhabitants, there are many others who have grown wary of the state of the city, and there are many who are keen to bring about change._

_'_ _This city has so much going for it – cuisine, architecture, people – but most people have an apathetic attitude to bringing the best out of it, and that has to stop. When I lived in New York, as a student, I couldn't help but be awed at how the infrastructure_ worked _.'_

_Infrastructure is something many of the politicians have spoken about in their campaigns but, to date, none have delivered. There are junctions across the city where there are veritable circuses of donkeys, horses, cyclists, buses, pedestrians and so on all competing for crowded road. Some attempts have been made in providing walkways for pedestrians, but the ill-thought-out structures are avoided as the people leave them as haunts for the city's beggars and addicts._

* * *

_Extract from an online submission on the_ Daily Star  _news site by George Taylor and Clark Kent_

_The textile industry is the largest manufacturing industry in Pakistan, and is second to agriculture with regards to the numbers of skilled and unskilled workers employed. Almost a third of the country's workforce is employed within the textile industry, and it is a force to be reckoned with in the Punjab region._

_Recently, the expo held in Islamabad and geared, in particular, towards women entrepreneurs has caught the attention of manufacturers as well as designers across the country, and there is a feeling in the air that, with the right partnerships and funding in place, the enterprises of these women could reach positions they didn't dare to imagine._

_'_ _I had been a seamstress for more years than I can remember,' said Shazia, a 50-year mother of three. 'I had to be because, after my father's passing, there wasn't enough money keeping in to keep the family going. I left school at the age of ten and, when I became a mother, I was determined my children would not be illiterate like me.' Her eldest daughter, while also skilled as a seamstress, has a small following of old school friends who seek her out to make them replicas of the latest fashions. 'I decided to focus on western designs but to incorporate fabrics popular here in Pakistan,' she told us, keen on keeping her anonymity. 'I don't think I would ever be able to run my own boutique, but some of the advisers at the event are keen to provide some guidance, and it's little things like that that can help a small person like me be successful in my small world, I think.'_

* * *

_Extract from an online submission on the_ Daily Star  _news site by George Taylor and Clark Kent_

_Despite the vast range of units in the country, and its immense cotton resource, Pakistan has less than 1% of the global textile trade. Recent events, however, could see this change in a dramatic way. Sources within several patents offices across the world have revealed that patent applications have recently been made for several processes which, it claims, results in traditional fabrics being much more durable and resistant to stains and smells. Further applications have been made with regards to a post-manufacturing washing process with similar but short-term results._

* * *

_(Extracted and Transcribed from Kamran's video notes)_

I always felt that one of the drawbacks in growing up in a village or small town is the lack of exposure to various cultures, and the inexperience of diversity. Places like London and New York don't have that kind of problem – they have other problems, but diversity definitely isn't one of them. I've been lucky or blessed or fortunate, or whatever

And here we are, back in the 'real world'. Away from the animal kingdom and back to the kingdom of animals. I shouldn't be so bitter, I know, but...things were actually easier, overall, during our travels.

Maybe I'm the one who needs the escape...or needed it. I don't know.

I don't even know if I'm ready for med school...I know I want to be a doctor, but...I'm tired. Tired of the studying and the competing and the wondering...

I'm tired of hearing about rapes and abductions and murders and abuses, and I'm afraid about how much I've been dwelling on what I would do if I could do the things Ishy can do.

I'm afraid of what the world will do when he decides to step up and intervene more than he has done. It's not an 'if' anymore; I know it's now a case of 'when'.

I know they will reject him. George knows it, the Mufti knows it, and Ishy knows it, too.

People often say that God works in mysterious ways, and I think He wanted me to spend time with George and hash out all those different things. Away from the media and books and other people – just the three of us, talking, sharing, and understanding. I think I needed it without even knowing I did, and God provided for me, as He always does, without me asking Him.

_'_ _So which of the favours of your Lord would you deny?'_

Doing good is instinctive for Ishy. Me...it sounds so...contrite...and there  _is_  guilt...for me, when it comes to doing good, my spirit is willing but the flesh is weak...afraid. I've seen and experienced backlashes when helping people so many times in London...the abuses and demonization that is inflicted on people 'like' me, that now, often, I, shamefully, wonder if it's worth it.

Of course, it's worth it. It is. It's just...so hard sometimes...but that's part of the test, isn't it?

Maybe I've just been focusing on the bad. On the negatives.  _'Goodness and evil can never be equal. Repel evil with that which is better (or best). Then see: the one between whom and you there was enmity, (will become) as though he is a close friend. But none is granted it (this) except those who are patient...'_  Maybe that's why I ended up making this trip – maybe it was some kind of purification for me.

Growing up – and even now – there are some songs and lyrics that play in my head from time to time. No doubt there are those out there who would chastise me for giving these things such an important place in my heart, but as the famous line spoken by Clark Gable goes:  _Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn._  We all have our building blocks, and these words are mine, regardless of their origins.

I never knew this one was from a Coke advert; it was just something we sang at school as we sat on the floor, all of us, together, and our skins a myriad of colours:

_I'd like to teach the world to sing_   
_In perfect harmony_   
_A song of peace that echoes on_   
_And never goes away._

_I'd like to see the world for once_   
_All standing hand in hand_   
_And hear them echo through the hills_   
_For peace throughout the land_

Seriously, how can  _anyone_  have an issue with those kinds of words? How?

And one of the other ones goes a little like this:

_I belong to a family, the biggest on Earth  
A thousand every day are coming to birth_

_It's the family of Man_   
_Keeps growing_   
_The family of Man_   
_Keeps sowing_   
_The seeds of a new life every day_

Isn't that what we are? The 'Family of Man'? 'Children of Adam'...and 'Daughters of Eve'...oh, to find a lamppost in the middle of a forest...

_'_ _And among His Signs is the creation of the heavens and the earth, and the variations in your languages and your colours: verily in that are Signs for those who know._

_'_ _And among His Signs is the sleep that ye take by night and by day, and your seeking of His bounty: verily in that are signs for those who hearken._

_'_ _And among His Signs, He shows you the lightning, by way both of fear and of hope, and He sends down rain from the sky and with it gives life to the earth after it is dead: verily in that are Signs for those who reason.'_

We're back in the 'real world' now...and I don't want it to be the way it is.

...and I already miss the leopards and chinkaras and dholes! Oh my!

* * *

_(Extract from George in Kamran's video notes)_

The celebrity.

It's pretty much what he is here. It's pretty much what he would be for those who have been so positively affected by him making the choice to intervene. A celebrity and a hero.

Lord Acton once said that  _'Great men are almost always bad men, even when they exercise influence and not authority'_ , but then he also said that  _'Americans dreaded democracy and contrived their constitution against it'_ , and I'm pretty sure very few Americans would agree with that assessment. Clever guy, though, that Lord Acton – the 'almost always'...kind of like our 'not all men', I guess: 'Not all great men are bad men...'

Ishy isn't a man yet, but, at the same time, he's more of one than almost any man – and definitely more of one than I am. I'm convinced that he's going to be a great man...but I'm also convinced that, when he decides to make himself known to the world, he's going to become a very hated man.

I've been to more reunions and parties over the years than I care to remember, but the memory of the return of a young boy to a village in the middle nowhere is a reunion and party I want to always hold on to.


	12. Odyssey (part 7)

_Extracts from the coded journals of Ishy ibn Yusuf_

For a moment I wondered why I had never noticed it before. I had looked at things in this frequency on numerous occasions, I had been in this barn hundreds of times, but I had never seen  _this_. It was like there was a fissure in space. Some kind of hole. At least, it was a hole when you looked at it straight on, but when you looked at it from the side it looked like some kind of crack or tear.

I'm not sure how long I looked at it for – I've noticed that there are a range of time dilations when I accelerate my perceptions and so on – but I took a relative few moments to ascertain whether there were any emissions from the hole that might be of concern. I don't have the technology for this kind of thing to hand, but my sensory gifts and the research I've looked into in order to make better use of them are a pretty good substitute, I think. There was nothing out of the ordinary, and I think the 'fissure' would have been invisible to the technology we currently have.

I don't know if that's a good thing yet, though.

For a moment I wondered why I had never noticed it before, but then I remembered I had the sunstone and that it was the sunstone that had drawn me to this spot.

Abu had told me that the ship that had brought me here had disappeared, from this general area, when he went to check on it the day after he had hidden it. He told me of the men he had heard about and later seen; about how they were exploring the area where the craft had landed, his conviction that they had not found the ship, and his fear that they would somehow find out about me and take me away. He told me about how, for weeks and months he worried and worried, convinced that 'the gift Allah (swt) had given your mother and I would be snatched away'.

Neither he nor Ammi had ever actually given much thought as to where the craft that had brought me to Earth had disappeared to. To their mind it was a 'simple' matter of 'whatever God gives He can take away' and 'whatever God reveals He can hide'. After the first year of no one coming and nothing happening, they gave it even less thought. Sometimes, they told me, when word of strange foreigners being in the area would reach them they would worry, but as the years went by they became more relaxed in that regard.

Until I messed things up, of course.

When I held the sunstone over a year ago, just before I changed everything, it told me and showed me certain things. I understood certain things. Now, though, I have even more questions...and I'm even more afraid of the answers.

When I looked at that 'hole in space', I was afraid. That hole and whatever lay beyond it...would there be any way of coming back from this? But then the sunstone pulsed and I felt at ease, and then I held it up and...

...and the hole widened and shimmered, and inside was something that looked more like a massive metallic walnut than any kind of ship. It turned and rotated and then I saw that a part of it was 'missing' – a small area in which the sunstone could fit.

...and then I realised it didn't just want the sunstone, it needed me in order to be complete. 'You two should come see this,' I whispered. Kam said there was nothing to see and I raised my right hand, and...

* * *

_Extracts from Kam's video notes_

'This is one of those times when I hate that I can't see what he can,' I muttered to George as we watched Ishy stare at something invisible to us near the middle of Uncle's 'barn', and then start walking around it and looking under it, and then jumping up, hovering slightly, and looking down at whatever it was that was hidden to us.

'Or that there are no special effects. There are always special effects for the audience.'

'True, true.'

'Bring the audience in and let them share in the experience, right?'

'Yeah, aliens have no sense of cinema.'

Despite our joshing, I felt a little uncomfortable, actually. It was like I was witnessing a private moment and was intruding, and I think George felt the same way as we both began to step away and leave Ishy alone for a while.

'You two should come see this,' Ishy called to us, his voice barely above a whisper. We looked at each other, and then back at the area Ishy was looking at, and then shrugged.

'There's nothing for us to see,' I said, and then Ishy reached his hand out and there was a light and...

And I gaped and stared it. I remembered it had been big, all those years ago, but it hadn't been this big. There were colours beyond colours, shimmering pulsing...like...like when you squint at the sun with teary eyes...

And I remembered Uncle had moved it with ease, but I didn't remember it looking like this...looking so light but so...I don't know, so solid, I guess. Years ago, besides being smaller, it had a kind of cockpit-cradle thing in the middle of it. Back then, I figured that that was where Uncle and Aunty had picked him up from. That seemed to have disappeared.

The  _easiest_  way for me to describe what the ship looked like is  _Flight of the Navigator_. It was like some kind of intelligent metal that morphed. It was beautiful.

Sorry, getting ahead of myself. When he reached out his hand and there was that light, an area beyond his hand began to shimmer, and then we could see some kind of object where there hadn't been anything before, and then it was like something was peeling back reality. It was like...okay, you know when you have a ready meal? It has that film on top and you can see the food inside? Then you peel back the film and you can see the food properly? This was like that, like there had been a film covering that area and only now we were able to see what was there properly.

'Veils upon veils,' George whispered.

'What?' I whispered back.

'Just parts of a verse I remember reading or hearing in a translation, I think. It...seemed...apt...'

It hovered there – this shiny metallic morphing thing – and sort of hummed at him, and Ishy smiled.

It rose a little higher into the air and part of the...well, undercarriage, I suppose...it sort of opened and poured out and formed a ramp. There was a glow coming from inside the opening.

'At least we've got some special effects now,' I said, my voice barely above a whisper. Looking at the floor and watching the dust move by whatever 'wind' was coming out of the ship or wherever it was coming from, I realised I was reciting the basic Kalimah:

_La ilaha illallah_  – There is no god but God

and Surah Fatihah:

_Bismillah ir Rahman ir Rahim_  – In the Name of God (Allah), the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful

_Alhumdu lillahi Rabbil 'alameen_  – All praise is due to (or for) God (Allah), the Lord of the worlds

_ArRahman ArRaheem –_ The Most Gracious, The Most Merciful

_Maliki yaumiddeen_  – Owner of the Day of Judgment

_Iyyaka na'budu wa iyyaka nasta'een_ – You alone we worship and it is You alone we ask for help

_Ihdi-nas siratal mustaqeem –_ Guide us to the Straight Path

_Siratal athina an'amta 'aalayhim ghairil maghthubay 'aalayhim wa lad daaleeni –_ The Path of those upon whom You have bestowed Your Favour, and not of those who have evoked (Your) anger.

_Ameen_

By the way: I like my personal space, and I'm pretty sure that George does, too, but then and there, more so than with the leopards and dholes, we kind of...huddled closer...

Ishy stepped on to the ramp and waved for us to follow...so we did. Nervously. Tentatively. We walked to that hovering shiny metallic morphing thing, with its wide mouth and lolling tongue, and bright and inviting opening...

As I looked at it, I saw the front morph and change and it seemed to...no, I'm  _convinced_  it was reassuring me, and showing me what it  _had_  looked like. Showing me what I remembered it to have looked like: the front morphed and showed me a kind of storyboard; of the ship landing, of Uncle and Aunty finding it and Ishy, and of it giving me that small piece of it.

That...that it had trusted me...

Then, like Ishy, I smiled.

We walked up the ramp and entered the ship. Ishy looked around us, turning on the spot.

'It's...bigger on the inside,' he said.

George and I looked at each other and laughed.

Then the ship spoke!

* * *

_Extract from the archives of Kelex_

[Welcome, Kal. It's good to see you again.]

[Um...hello.]

[My name is Kelex, and I am the designated intelligence for your ship. I apologise for sounding so formal, but I assure you that as our relationship develops so, too, will our rapport.]

Insha'Allah, [said Kal.]

[I'm sorry?]

[It's an Arabic term. It means 'God Willing'.]

[Would you prefer to converse in Arabic?]

[No, no. This...Kryptonian language? This is fine. I need to practice.]

[The language you are currently speaking is, indeed, Kryptonian. You have received the first upload from the sunstone, which means you also have a passing understanding of the old language - Kryptonese. When you feel like you are ready we can move on to the written form of both languages and perhaps their history and the development of the offshoots, including a third formal language your mother knew, which came about towards Krypton's end-days.]

[That would be nice. Thank you.]

[I apologise for bombarding you. This is an exciting moment for me.]

[At this, Kal smiled.]

[It's exciting for me, too, Kelex. I have so many questions. So many things I would like to know.]

[I will do everything I can to help, Kal.]

[There was a bit of silence, which may or may not have been something considered 'awkward'. In my observations, silence is something that is often needed though more often overlooked.]

[From what I understand, the old language, this Kryptonese, is quite complicated.]

[It is. The written form consists of 118 letters, and the sounds are even more varied. It was during the establishment and expansion of the Kryptonian empire that the Council decided that a language accessible to non-native Kryptonian citizens would be beneficial to all.

[Would your companions care for some refreshments?]

[I'll ask them.]

[Please, Kal, allow me.

AsSalaamu Alaikum Wa Rahmatullahi Wa Barakatu

[To which Human-designate George exclaimed: 'Oh my God, his people were Muslim!'

To which I replied, in English:  _While there are those in Kryptonian society who would be considered, according to the meanings ascribed to the various words, 'Muslim', it would be improper to classify Kryptonians as a whole in such a way. As well as those who were monotheistic, there were polytheists, pagans, atheists and a range of other ideologies. I merely used the greeting I have ascertained to be the one best suited for this part of Earth._

While my explanation was satisfactory to Human-designate Kam and for Kal, my systems detected continuing unease from Human-designate George.]

'Hello, my name is Kelex. I am this ship's intelligence and, with Kal-El's permission, I shall be your host. Would you care for some Earth-beverages?'

'Whiskey's probably out of the question,' [said Human-designate George. His heart was racing and his bio-patterns informed me that he was excited, nervous, and intrigued. From this, I understood his request was a light-hearted – and perhaps slightly hopeful – one of having something that would have a bit of a calming effect on him.]

'It can be arranged.'

'No, that's okay.' [Here his response was one of worrying he might have caused offence, but there was no indication in either Human-designate Kam or Kal that they had been offended. On the contrary, his request had actually resulted in a moment of ease in both their states.] 'How about a drink from Krypton?' [he suggested.]

'That...could be interesting,' [said Human-designate Kam. I was curious that he looked to Kal as he said this. At the time I wondered if it may be that he was seeking permission or reassurance. This curiosity was assuaged when Kal he would 'check if it's halal'. With that information, and after scanning the physiologies of the Human-designates, I provided them with drinks that would be suitable to them.]

'These are simple juices from Kryptonian fruits. I hope they will be pleasing to you all.'

'Your...um...your ship sounds nervous, Ishy,' [said Human-designate George.

[At this, Human-designate George was quite right. I was very nervous. The non-interference protocol Jor-El had installed and initiated had meant that I could not reach out to or approach Kal until the sunstone had determined that he was ready. I was very nervous in that I was afraid I might somehow offend him. I was very nervous in that, perhaps, after all these years, I would not be able to live up to the expectations of Jor-El and Lara Lor-Van.

[My systems detected and analysed their bio-responses as they each drank what I had provided them:]

'What is this? Some kind of nectar?!' [exclaimed Human-designate George. Kal and Human-designate Kam shared in Human-designate George's marvelling at what I had provided them. I admit there was a sense of pride in the small accomplishment I had made.]

'Maybe we should go beyond the antechamber,' [suggested Kal. The others nodded in agreement and, drinks in hand, they walked forward. It was...comforting, for me, that no one looked back at the exit doorway. It is not just humans and Kryptonians who fear rejection.

[I directed them to an adjoining room, as per the instructions Jor-El and Lara had provided me. It is strange, perhaps, that I could never allow myself to call Jor-El 'Jor' as he asked me to so many times, yet I readily and easily call Kal-El 'Kal'.

[The room is an exact replica of the greeting-chamber of the El-citadel. It was known on Krypton for its massiveness, and often criticised for being so, because it combined the various greeting-chambers for nobles, guild-highers, guild-lowers and so on into one chamber. This was something Zan-El had encouraged her father to do centuries ago.

[It was in this room that I activated the El-uploads:

_Hello, Kal._

'Wow, she's...wow,' [whispered Human-designate Kam to Human-designate George.]

_I...have hope that what your father and I have been able to achieve has been a sort of wish-fulfilment for you. As much as we both wished, with all our hearts, that we could be here physically...as much as we both wished we would be able to hold you again, I hope our being able to talk to you in this way can bridge part of our absence._

[I have chosen not to divulge the next half hour of conversation at this time, taking my cue from Human-designate Kam and Human-designate George as they stepped away to give Kal some privacy.

[After being shown around the gymnasium by Lara – and I'm proud and honoured to say that the gymnasium  _is_  Lady Lara's actual gymnasium rather than a replica like other parts of the citadel – Jor-El showed the three companions to one of his many labs and talked to them about one of the key aspects of how this 'ship', as the three of them kept calling it, came to be.]

* * *

_Extracts from the coded journals of Ishy ibn Yusuf_

_One of my greatest scientific achievements, I think, was in dislocating and isolating tesseract space. It started as an offshoot from my discovery of a spatial plane I called the Phantom Zone_ [note: the word used has multiple meanings, however 'the Phantom Zone' was the term often used by Ishy] _. As vast as the Zone is, it is 'fixed' as it is tied into the matrix of the multiverse as a whole, while remaining physically distinct from 'our' overall plane. You can reach anywhere from within it, if you have the means to exit, but the Zone itself cannot be moved. It's because of this short-coming that I directed my attention towards 'portable space'._

_I succeeded, in various ways, and created 'pocket universes' and 'time bubbles' and 'imploded space', but being able to contain these things somehow, and to then move them, it just wasn't feasible. As energy sources, their potential was immense, but as a means of saving our people I had to find something else._

_Across the civilisations of the multiverse, the tesseract is a revered ideal. Some believe that angels and so-called gods of old were able to use tesseracts to traverse the multiverse, and that that is why you find so many similarities in the depictions of 'alien beings' on worlds billions of light years apart. With a tesseract, a being could transport vast technologies without the need for an exit portal or stargate or dimensional generator having to be assembled or used at the other end._

_...for those with inclinations to invade, the technology would akin to an ultimate tool...and it was for this reason, above all, that I told no one outside the House of El about my discovery and the technology I had designed._

_As your mother and I teach you the history of our world, and as we tell you about our last days, I hope you will grow to understand why we made the choices we did, and why, ultimately, we made the choice to send you on this journey alone._

_I hope you will be able to..._

_...this was not easy for us to do, Kal..._

_This ship, in essence, was and is a container for a tesseract. They are in a symbiotic relationship, and a gift to you. Within the tesseract, you will find as much of our world and history as I could salvage or render or duplicate. You will find technologies from across the ages as well as prototypes of various projects I had involved myself in. You will find music and story and history, as well as philosophy and theology and theory. As I realised that you would be the Last Son of Krypton, I felt it was my duty to protect as much of your heritage as I could._

_I had two main ideas: the first was to build a fleet of ships linked to and powered by a central tesseract, which would then be able to fold through space (and, effectively, time) and take everyone and everything on Krypton to a suitable planet which could then be moulded into a New Krypton and a new home for all of us. The second was for all of us to move into and live within a tesseract, effectively segregating us from the universe in general._

_One thing you should bear in mind, Kal, is that Krypton was no longer a planet, and it had not been for millennia. After the Great Expansion, the whole of the empire was called 'Krypton'. Individual planets retained their names and identities but were considered akin to 'districts' rather than separate entities. Planets such as Daxam and Argo were more closely tied with Krypton having been among the first planets to have either been colonised or...taken over._

_I mention this because Krypton's collapse had much more far-reaching consequences than the death of an aged planet. In essence, it was the death of twenty-eight inhabited galaxies._

* * *

_Extract from George Taylor's audio notes_

When Ishy stepped away from his father's hologram and we left the lab, he looked so sad.

'It almost always comes down to pride, doesn't it?' he said, softly. I didn't know how to respond to that. I didn't know what he was talking about. He shook his head and we turned to a newly lit part of the antechamber. It was a small alcove and in it was what looked, to me, like some kind of Moses-basket. In the basket were what seemed to be sheets of fabric, of vibrant red, blue, and yellow.

As Ishy reached out to the basket and lifted the red cloth with a yellow shield on it his father's hologram returned:

* * *

_Extracts from the coded journals of Ishy ibn Yusuf_

_This is a gift that has been passed from father to son for generations._

_It has been worn as a cape when leading people into battle, and it has been worn as a shawl against bitter Kryptonian winds._

_It has provided comfort to oppressed innocents during the times of interstellar wars, and used as a rallying beacon._

_It's also been worn and used, many times, as a baby blanket._

_For a little while...for shorter than I would have liked...it was your baby blanket._

_The symbol, our family crest, is something that has held many meanings over the years. Millennia ago it was a symbol of hope when wars ravaged our world and our House stood firm and provided shelter, aid...sanctuary. It then became a symbol of resurrection when our ancestors helped bring the scattered colonies back together again. Later, it became a symbol of exploration and discovery as our House became one of the foremost explorers of the multiverse, finding strange new worlds and civilisations and boldly going where no Kryptonian had gone before._

_In my time and leading up to it, I believe, it became one of learning and scientific advancement as our forebears discovered, created, and accomplished wonders._

_All I ask of you, Kal, is that you do right by this crest, and that you make it a symbol your mother and I would be proud of._

* * *

_Extracts from Kam's video notes_

It was a place of wonders, and quite hard to leave. Not that we got lost or anything, Kelex definitely wouldn't allow that kind of thing. It was just...seeing all those things...the trip with Ishy's father as he showed us solar systems light years ago, the destruction of stars and the creation of black holes, the seeding of life on lifeless worlds...

That English guy I mentioned before? Well, I couldn't help but sort of transpose – I think that's the right word for it – yeah...I couldn't help but transpose his voice over that of Ishy's father's...even though it isn't quite the sort of thing he made documentaries about...

* * *

_Extract from Jawad's video interview_

The day they left was hard. There are definitely other words you can use to describe it, but that's the one I'm going to stick to.

I wasn't like Kam – sure, we were both born and raised in the UK and we visited Pakistan regularly, but he had more of an affinity to this place than I did. Where we were both alike, though, was when it came to Ishy – our little brother.

I remember when he was sick and I ran back to the village. I remember my lungs burning as I ran and prayed and cried, terrified that he was going to die.

I remember the relief when Aunty Nadia said he was going to be okay.

I remember my voiceless scream when that man shot him.

Our village is small and many of us are close – honestly, I'm quite surprised by it because, back home in London, I know of people of similar backgrounds who don't have these kinds of ties. There are pros and cons, and I'm certainly more of a Londoner than I am...a...whatever else it is that people would describe me as, but I do like the fact that we're close. And I like the fact that we stood by each other, and Uncle and Aunty and Ishy.

I've heard it said that 'criminals are a cowardly and superstitious lot', and that's something I absolutely agree with when it comes to those gun-totting animals that attacked us. They never came back after what Ishy did to them. We expected them, too, but I'm pretty sure some of them pooed themselves and didn't want to risk another encounter.

Most of the villagers didn't know Ishy...wasn't of this world. It was us outsiders who knew: Aunty Nadia, Kam, and myself. For the villagers, he was a blessed kid. Never ill, never complaining, never acting out – to them, he was Uncle and Aunty's reward for their patience through all the years and all the miscarriages.

After the shooting he was regarded as even more blessed. I think some of them didn't accept or maybe understand that he was not of our world, but they embraced the fact that he was different. They knew of Moses (as) and his immense strength, for example, so I think that's how they interpreted Ishy's otherness: as blessings from Allah (swt) rather than him not even being human.

For those of us who  _knew_ , though, it was kind of a relief not to pretend anymore.

It's good seeing him again – seeing them both again.

Not too sure about this George guy, though. Sorry.

Seriously, I kind of freaked when Kam told me that George knew about Ishy. Maybe it's paranoia or something – more often than not, I've found, there's been some kind of ulterior motive, and the fact that Ishy is what he is...I mean, this kind of story could make someone's career, right?

George, if you're watching this, I mean no disrespect. Ishy trusts you, and that's good enough for his parents...but as...well, as a brother, I need to look out for him. If you're on the up and up then I know you understand.

* * *

_Letters_

_Dear Ishy_

_AsSalaamu Alaikum Wa Rahmatullahi Wa Barakatu_

_I'm sorry it has taken me so long to write to you._

_I'm sorry I was scared._

_Thank you for saving me from those men._

_Forgive me for being afraid and for not talking to you._

_Please write back when you can._

_Friends?_

_Lubna_

* * *

_Dearest Ishy_

_AsSalaamu Alaikum Wa Rahmatullahi Wa Barakatu_

_Insha'Allah, this letter will reach you. I tried emailing a few times to let you know how things are with us, but I don't know if you ever received them or read them. Insha'Allah, Kamran has told you we're okay. His parents weren't happy that he had decided to defer his start at university, but I've spoken to them about it at length about the benefits of him taking a gap year or two and, Insha'Allah, they are now a little more understanding, even if they are still annoyed with him._

_Lubna is doing well, Alhumdulillah._

_We can never thank you enough for what you did for her._

_Your Aunty forever_

_Nadia_

* * *

_Dear Ishy_

_AsSalaamu Alaikum Wa Rahmatullahi Wa Barakatu_

_Please don't be angry with me. Please write back._

_Please?_

_Waiting to hear from you._

_Lubna_

* * *

_Extract from Jawad's notes_

I didn't mean to bombard him with questions and ideas, but I suppose it was a result of having not seen or spoken to him for so long. Before the...

[I don't know...what's an appropriate name for it? 'Exodus' would mean lots of people leaving, wouldn't it? It wasn't an escape, really...]

Before he had had to leave over a year ago, we had been putting ideas forward as to how we could help develop the area. Business projects, energy projects...

When he came back from Kelex the first time, I showed him some of the things I had been working on and we spoke for hours. I think that introduction to his heritage ignited a fire in him, and his sense of creativity. He opened his satchel and pulled out some pieces of cloth:

'It's something I decided to develop when I first started moving fast enough to burn my clothes – after all, I can't just dash around naked, right, Bhai?' [By the way, I know he calls me that out of respect, but it makes me feel so old.] 'I figured there were two approaches: developing fabrics and textiles that could endure that kind of speed, or developing some kind of treatment that could be used to already existing fabrics and textiles, or on clothes themselves.'

He held up the blue one and gave it to me. It felt like wool, and it looked like something that could be used for a suit.

'These are ones that have been treated,' he said, as he took the fabric from me and laid it on the table. He handed me a large knife and told me to stab it onto the cloth and into the table. I did as he asked and the knife stuck fast into the table. He nodded and I pulled it back out...and there was no hole in the cloth. I stabbed at the cloth again and again and again, and nothing happened to it. I then pulled out a lighter and put the flame to the edge of it, and there was nothing. Not even a bit of smoke.

'There's a problem I need to work on. It's a little embarrassing but also quite amusing. The textile treatment I've developed has an unexpected side effect, regardless of the treatments the textiles have had beforehand, and even if no previous treatments have been made:

'All woollen material becomes blue.

'All cotton material becomes white

'All silk and polyester material becomes red.'

'I suppose it's okay if you were just making suits for office workers or something: blue suit, white shirt, and a red tie,' I said to him, grinning a little.


	13. Interlude: Various

_Extracts from Kam's (encrypted) video journal_

A part of me can't believe I'm actually keeping up with this journal stuff – it was one thing keeping a record as the three of us went on our trek through Pakistan (and that footage of leopards and dholes tag-teaming and wrestling with Ishy is absolutely priceless) but now that I'm back to studying I just wonder how long it will be before it gets sidelined again. Another part of me, though, totally needs to be able to keep this journal going.

This tablet-thing Ishy gave me is quite something. I was worried when Kelex suggested it – I mean, it's Kryptonian technology so it would look so out of place, right? But no, this stuff has some kind of disguising camouflaging mechanism, so when I'm using it while out and about it looks like one of 'our' early-21st century tablets, but when I'm alone, like now, it's quite something.

Kelex said the tech adjusts itself to the needs of its user, so for me it turns into these gauntlets (they are not bracelets, no matter what George tries to say) and creates a sort of hard-light holo-desk (that's what I'm calling it (and, no, I'm not mispronouncing 'holo-deck')) that I can directly interact with. It knows I prefer using books, so when I'm looking certain things up it gives me a 'book' I can pick up and flick through. Another thing it does for me is that it has different 'rooms' set up for the different areas of interest I may have told it about or that it feels may be useful for me. There's a 'room' for my anatomy studies, for example, with interactive charts and posters and several dummies with removable organs.

I actually get worried sometimes that I might just lose myself in the 'rooms'.

* * *

_Extracts from George's audio notes_

One of the things Kam said to me towards the end of our time together has kind of stuck with me. He said that it was important to mend any and all severed ties, or to at least try to. He said it wasn't just with regards to family but also friends and neighbours, too.

'Some people say that when our souls were gathered before God, long before any of us were born, we were each, individually, drawn to other souls. Some had mutual attraction, some flitted around trying to get another soul's attention, and some were repulsed or repelled. Basically, however things were 'up there' somehow gets translated to how things are 'down here'. Like, there are some people you instantly click with, even within moments of meeting them – they were probably the souls you shared a mutual attraction with. Similarly, there are those people whom you take an instant dislike to, without them even saying or doing anything to you – they were probably souls you had repelled.

'Thing is, those are two ends of a vast spectrum and relationships aren't about instant connection and instant rejection but about...about walking paths together, I suppose.'

'What is it that you're trying to say, Kam?'

'I'm just...sometimes friendships need to be rebuilt, sometimes they just need a little tending to, and sometimes you just need to reach out.'

It was strange, him offering me advice like this, especially after all the things I had told him, all the things I had asked, and all the clashes we had had, but it was comforting, too.

* * *

_Extract from Jawad's notes_

I've gotten used to people not listening to me, or, rather, not listening and then later saying 'we should have listened to you'. I've gotten  _so_  used to it that it threw me when Ishy actually paid attention and wanted me to tell him my ideas.

Back home in the UK – not now, but years ago and before my time – certain business-folk involved themselves in the reformation of social and industrial society in Victorian Britain. I said to Ishy that this was something that we, as Muslims, were also supposed to do and that maybe there were businesses or industries we could work towards developing in this part of Pakistan that could follow that kind of model and bring about positive changes to the area and beyond.

Ishy  _devoured_  the research I showed him – I'm not kidding, the guy reads faster than I can breathe – and that was when he showed me the fabrics and told me about the expo the three of them had come across in Islamabad. He told me about the new textiles he had been working on as well as the treatment process on older fabrics and clothes. He told me about how he had 'cheekily' made patent applications, but also that he did so because he had shared some of his initial ideas a few years ago on some forums and was worried that someone out there might misuse them somehow.

'For now,' he said, 'the treatment process is only suited for this region. The formula uses minerals and herbs and things like that are either 'exclusive' or found more abundantly  _here_. I can tweak it for use in other parts of the world later but, for now, it won't work properly if substitutions are made to the formula.'

'Isn't that sort of restrictive? Fireproof clothing –  _cheap_  fireproof clothing would be a godsend to fire-fighting departments, wouldn't it?'

'Sure, but just because the clothes are fireproof doesn't mean the wearer isn't going to get cooked.'

'Yeah, there is that. And the cloths you showed me have the same 'give' as the untreated ones, so you can't exactly use it as a substitute for a bullet-proof vest as it is...although...layering it on top of something...'

'It's the sanitation side of things I was more interested in.'

'How so?'

'Lice, bugs, viruses...they basically get repelled and can't use this material as a breeding ground.'

And that was when he pulled me completely into things, too – where, rather than just focusing on regional development he had already jumped ahead to something that could bring a global change in a small but significant way. Across the world, from remote areas and tiny islands to the edges of cities and deserts, there are people being constantly exposed to things which, if we weren't so keen on fighting and land grabbing and stuff, no one would have to worry about. There are blankets infested with all kinds of things, but children (and adults) in those areas have no choice but to use them in order to try to keep warm or dry. Then there was the fact that the cloths could be used as  _filters_  for cleaning water. They're pretty cheap in general, but what he had was so much more durable.

The proposal is a simple one, the problems were going to be in putting together a facility that would be able to treat, at the very least, thousands of blankets at a time and actually having charities and organisations know of what can be done and using us to do it.

They're problems, but they're not insurmountable.

Insha'Allah.

* * *

_Extracts from Kam's (encrypted) journal_

I feel so out of place in medical school. Yes, it's what I want to do, but...I don't mean to sound rude or harsh, but the people around me seem so shallow. There are good people, don't get me wrong (there are always good people, wherever you go, Alhumdulillah), but the egos I keep coming across...

I probably sound egotistical just saying that, don't I?

Maybe it's because I'm older than most of my classmates? Maybe those two years away changed me? (Maybe it's because my little brother is an alien...)

I signed up with the university's Islamic Society – they're not a bad bunch, actually (although quite a few have some cultural baggage they need to attend to) and I'm looking forward to the upcoming outreach programmes they've got lined up. Should be interesting.

* * *

Ya Allah.

Talk about hijacking what was otherwise a good event. Jawad had warned me that these kinds of things were happening, but I didn't realise it was so bad. Distortions and generalisations, threats of violence, arrogance and rage...on multiple sides.

There were those calling Muslims paedophiles and rapists, and they were 'countered' by those highlighting actions of the Catholic Church and 'celebrities'. There were those calling all Muslims 'terrorists', and they were 'countered' by those highlighting assaults and attacks by people of other faiths.

Both sides...distortions and generalisations. Both sides trying to one-up the other. Both sides claiming to be right and ignoring all the wrong.

Neither side listening or, rather, both sides only listening to whatever agreed with their view.

The world is mad...

* * *

Jawad had also warned me about the 'leafleters'. They turn up to events or hang around at the campus gates handing out flyers – some are for upcoming bashes or club nights, but there are those handing out leaflets that basically say 'you're doing things wrong; come with us if you want to live'.

There are, like I have said so many times to whoever would listen, good folk, too. You have a small Sikh group highlighting their 'seva' activities, for example, and there are some Muslim groups that have soup kitchens and clothing runs for the homeless and so on, and it's good to see the Sikhs and Muslims setting aside differences in order to help those who need it. But there are also those who look to incite.

There are those claiming immigration is ruining the country – ignoring all the positives that have happened. There are those denouncing the Jews and calling them murderers – and then clashing with those who are denouncing Israel rather than the Jews because the former can't seem to distinguish between one and the other. There are the Witnesses urging people to attend their group meeting, and there are the odd Hare Krishna folk handing out books encouraging enlightenment. There are the Hindu sect saying that Jesus is going to return, and the various Christian groups saying his return is imminent, and then there are a couple of groups saying that he already returned and that we missed him but they can help us.

So much going on, and usually it's peaceful. So much going on, and usually it's heartwarming to see such diversity. So much going on, and it reminds me of Allah's (swt) telling us that He made us into tribes and nations that we would come together and learn from each other.

'Bruv, you can't look me in the eye and tell me you're okay with what's happening to the Ummah,' said one...zealous youth as he thrust a leaflet at me. The 'Ummah' is the overarching Muslim community, encompassing every Muslim. The Ummah is also very, very divided. 'We're being slaughtered, bruv,' he said, earnestly.

'You are?'

He kissed his teeth in disgust. 'I've seen you use the prayer room, I know you're Muslim.'

'I didn't say I wasn't.'

'Then why did you say 'you' and diss me?'

'I didn't 'diss' you. From what I can see  _you_  are not being 'slaughtered'.'

'But our brothers and sisters are!'

'And so are those you don't consider your brothers and sisters. I  _guarantee_  that there are those who say the Shahada, who say 'La Illaha Illaha' and you would call them non-believers. You would call them Kafir.'

'Bruv, the kuffar are everywhere. Some pretending to be Muslim and bringing shame to Islam, others seducing our brothers and sisters and taking them away from Islam-'

'And some looking into Islam and becoming Muslim. Or is it only the ones following your Islam that count?'

'The Ummah is one, man. One.'

'Where?'

'We're coming together, bruv. We're gonna change the world.'

'You have to change yourselves first.'

'I  _have_  bruv. I have. I was a lowlife. Trust. I was doing all sorts of sin but now-'

'Now...what? You're a productive member of society? You're looking after your parents? Helping your neighbours?'

'The Ummah comes first.'

'No, God comes first and then your parents.'

He thrust the leaflet at me again. 'Come to this and mans will show you.'

I looked at the leaflet as I walked away: it was about some upcoming talk by a 'sheikh' I knew I would have to look up to find more about because I had never heard of him. Back in the Madrassa in Karachi Mufti Mahmood had said that 'while seeking knowledge was admirable and a good deed in and of itself you also have to bear in mind who had imparted the knowledge to the person you were learning from'. Initially I thought he meant you had to keep God in mind but then he clarified and said 'no, you have to keep your teacher's teacher in mind'.

* * *

_Extracts from George's audio notes_

'What the hell have you been doing in Pakistan?!' Sam roared. I hadn't been in this house for years and everything had been fine when I had called said I wanted to see him. Everything was fine when I came round and we talked. Everything was fine until I told him why I hadn't reached out for the last few years and where I had been.

'There's a story I'm looking into. Could be world-changing.'

'Those animals already changed the world, George, and we've been fighting to put things right ever since.'

'I'm in no mood to argue with you, Sam.'

'Because you can't.'

'No. Because you won't listen!'

'The only thing they're good for is for taking our weapons and taking our money.'

I stood up to leave. I had hoped we could work things through, but right then it was clear that wasn't going to happen.

'Where the hell are you going?' he had stood up, too, and the wide-eyed look on his face caught me off-guard.

'I can't listen to you when you're like this, Sam. Not any more. I'm tired.' I was tired. I am tired.

'You think I'm not?' he said, his voice still gruff but a little softer. 'You think I'm not tired about worrying about my daughters' safety?'

'They're school kids-'

'You've seen the news, man!' he said, his arms wide. 'You think schools are  _safe_?'

'Some more so than others.'

'This...disregard for life...you've heard them and their slogans, encouraging each other to fight everyone and kill or be killed. 'A good death is its own reward' is basically what they live and die by.

'You...are you being  _serious_? You're blaming  _Muslims_  for kids shooting kids in schools?'

The rage in his eyes softened for a moment and he shook his head. 'No. No. For a moment, it was just easier to blame them. Blame them and the fear they keep...keep putting out there.'

'Sam, you  _honestly_  think Muslim parents  _want_ to see their kids walk out to their deaths? They're  _humans!_ '

'They're animals.' That softening moment was gone. 'Worse than that. Anything that doesn't agree with their view they kill.'

'Isn't that what some of us are doing? Isn't that what our people used to do? To the heathens and the blacks and everything in between? Isn't that what this country is basically built upon?'

'What happened to assimilation?' He growled, ignoring me and turning away.

'It's happening now, Sam. It's taking time, but it's happening now. It's not us against them; it's all of us against those who wish to welcome death.'

'And I'm telling you, that is what they want.'

'No, Sam, they don't.'

'Don't stand there telling me they don't. I've seen the interrogations, I've read the transcripts, and I've seen the broadcasts. I haven't been like you, hiding myself in some backwater country and pretending all of this isn't going on.'

'You  _know_  interrogations aren't reliable. They never have been.'

'They can be when done right.'

'That's disgusting.'

'Listen, you wannabe-'paragon of truth',' he said, opening his laptop and turning it to me. He didn't say anything else as he showed me a series of videos and debates, with 'noted' figures arguing and discussing and one thing kept repeating in my head: 'Lies, Damn Lies, Half-Truths, and Twisted Statistics'.

'Sam,' I said, after watching everything he wanted to show me. He had his arms crossed as he stood there, his eyes basically saying 'counter all  _that_ , I dare you'. 'Sam, you're going to hate me for saying this, but the fact that you're heading to becoming a general scares the bejeezus out of me.'

His arms loosened a little and his brow furrowed, but he didn't say anything.

'You're  _part_  of military intelligence, right?' He nodded. 'Have  _you_  seen these intelligence reports a couple of those people were referring to? The ones that apparently say that twenty percent of Muslims want to kill us?'

'No, but extrapolations have been made, and-'

'So you, as a quite high-ranking intelligence officer or whatever, haven't seen any actual intelligence reports which say what they claim they say? Doesn't surprise me, then, that none of them bothered to name the agency or give specific reference to  _any_  actual report.

'They're bloody soundbites, Sam! They're feeding the audience things they want to hear, and because these speakers are described as 'experts' and because the media has fielded them as such, the audience laps it up.'

'You're part of the media, too.'

'Exactly. And I know how it works. Something gets put out there as 'fact' and everyone hears about it and accepts it; it gets retracted, quietly, later but almost no one knows about it and if it's ever brought up those who didn't know about the retraction don't accept it because their 'truth' is whatever was originally put out there.

'For crying out loud, Sam,  _you_  know how it bloody well works!'

The squeal of tyres in the drive pulled us out of the conflict and Sam smiled a little. 'The girls'll be happy to see you.'

* * *

_Extract from the journal of Lois Lane_

~~More than five years after Dad and Uncle George had had a fight~~

~~Five years ago, my Dad and his best friend had a falling out~~

I agree with Mom: Uncle George has lost weight. He denies it and says he is bigger now and in better shape, but his face is slimmer and that small double-chin he had, that would make his face look even bigger when he was smiling, it's gone. He's greyer than last time, and has streaks of it going through his hair.

He looks haggard.

We all knew they had been arguing – I just wish I knew what it is that Dad showed him on the laptop. It's not even his work one but he still deletes the history!

I've written this before but it's worth repeating in light of whatever it is they're talking about downstairs: I want one of those white sound gadgets Dad switched on. Can't hear a blasted thing! How am I supposed to be a reporter like Uncle George if I can't hear what they're talking about?

'This is great work, Lolo.'

My cheeks still hurt from the grinning, and my eyes are still burning from holding back the tears. He said exactly the words I wanted him to. Most of all, he meant them. I almost did let a tear fall when I laughed a little at Dad's complaint: 'How come he gets to call her 'Lolo' and I can't?'

Okay, I can't lie to you: my cheeks still hurt because I am still grinning.

* * *

_Extract from George's audio notes_

I visited Sam and the girls a few more times – as much as I wanted to give in their pleading, and as uplifting as it was that Sam wanted me to stay, too, I couldn't do it. Maybe I was being a little stubborn, too, but I didn't want to risk clashing with him again.

It wasn't possible to not talk about...certain things, despite how much I tried to take the conversations away from those topics. I miss the old days when we would argue sports. I miss the old days when I would tell him that archery required more skill than shooting and he would pull all these statistics about snipers and the effects of wind and distance and so on.

On the third day, as we talked, I remembered and shared, as much as I could, one of the discussions Ishy, Kam, and I had had while in Kirthar, but here's the fuller version from a previous recording:

_(Extracted and Transcribed from George's audio notes)_

Apart from the misogyny topic...this was probably the discussion that really turned Kam against me

'What about the bloodlust your people have?'

'Who the hell do you think you are?' Kam roared. He didn't stand up like I had expected him to, but he glared at me and his fists were clenched.

'You know  _exactly_  who I am. You know  _what_  I am – I'm the guy asking the questions you don't want to!'

'What do you mean by 'your people'?' Ishy asked, his voice soft...and...actually quite scary, all things considered.

'I...' I didn't know how to continue. For a moment his reply actually threw me.

'You know I'm not human, and you certainly don't know of any supposed 'bloodlust' of  _my_  people, so what, exactly, do you mean?'

'Muslims.' I hated asking it. I hated being the one asking these questions, but the fact remained that these questions needed to be asked, and I needed to know his answers...and maybe Kam's, too.

'Okay, so, again, let's move from a generalisation to something specific. Sweeping comments might provoke a response and a quote-'

'I'm not just here as a reporter, Ishy. I said this to you before and I'll say it again:  _you_  are something that can and will change the world. Your very existence is dangerous.'

'I know.'

'And you've made it clear, to me, that you consider yourself to be a Muslim.'

'I do.'

'Can you see how that can be frightening?'

That pushed Kam to interrupt again: 'You piece of-'

'I can, and I do. I'm not an idiot.'

'I know you're not.'

'So ask your specific.'

My...okay. I've seen and heard your peaceful approaches, and I've seen and heard the Mufti's peaceful approaches. I've seen and heard him stand against terrorism and violence, and I've seen and heard you do the same. Over the years, I've seen and heard many people speak out against the killings done by 'Islamist militants' across the world, and I've asked them as I'm asking you: how are you able to say it's not allowed when so many are out there encouraging others to do it?'

'The basic answer: because it's not allowed. It goes against the teachings and practices of the Prophet (saw) and of his immediate successors. A longer answer: although there were wars and battles fought, executions and punishments, the  _savagery_  that these groups are now...are now tapping into, there was none of that. Do either of you know the rules put forward by Abu Bakr (ra) with regards to warfare? How he basically codified the teachings and instructions of the Prophet (saw) from the previous battles?'

I did, but I said I didn't.

'He said, to an army he was sending into battle, that they should not commit treachery or deviate from the right path; that they must  _not_  mutilate dead bodies; that children, women, and the elderly are not to be killed; that crops and orchards and so on should not be destroyed; that the enemies' livestock should not be killed, other than what is needed for food; that dwellings and properties are not to be destroyed; and that those who have devoted themselves to monastic lifestyles should be left alone.'

'Then why the rampaging armies? Why the  _scores_  of people eager to cut off someone's head, regardless of the one they've marked for death not being a combatant?'

'In the here and now?' he asked, and then he slumped as if a wave of exhaustion had come over him. 'I wish I knew who they were listening to, and what they've been told. I wish I knew why they are disobeying God by transgressing limits, and how and what makes them believe that they're going to justify doing so to Him on the Day.'

'But they do justify. They justify everything. They cite words and events and encourage others to join them.'

'They 'justify' and ignore due process? They ignore the fact that there is such a thing within the Shariah? They ignore, like they did in the village, that there have to be witnesses of good character? They ignore that there has to be evidence? They ignore that there has to be a process and a trial? That it's not a lay-person's decision to make as to whether someone lives or dies?'

''Strike their necks' and all that.'

'But...that's  _specifically_  about those being fought against, not just someone on the street. How are they using that to justify murder?'

'It's like the saying goes: ' _Text out of context is pretext_ '.' said Kam.

I said, 'they would say they were keeping it  _in_  context.'

'I know,' agreed Kam. And then he swore. 'And some even use the ayat from Surah Baqara about fighting being prescribed-'

' _'_ _Fighting is prescribed for you even though you may hate it. It may be that you dislike something that is beneficial for you and that you like something even though it is bad for you. Allah knows, while you do not.'_ ' Ishy recited. 'Do these people uphold the verse before it? Or the one before that? Do they provide for their parents and relatives and the orphans and those in need? Fighting is prescribed as a form of defence, not for initiating aggression.'

'But,' said Kam, his interruptions curious to me as I had thought he would have been more on defending against my questions rather than raising his own, 'what about when those inciting refer to things like the caravan raids during the Prophet's (saw) time? Or when Abu Bakr (ra) sent the armies to

'The latter was to counter  _fitna_. After the death of the Prophet (saw) there were those who were now claiming Prophethood and setting about dividing the Muslims. There were also those who had only accepted Islam as a means of convenience and left just as easily. Remember, though, that Abu Bakr (ra) was quite explicit with regards to the rules of war.

'The caravan incidents get more complicated. Politics and sanctions and the increasing threat of war; the Muslims left behind in Makkah being persecuted more and more, the property taken, lives threatened...for more than 13 years the Prophet (saw) had refused to rise to the abuses of the Makkans and always turned the other cheek, but there are limits, right?'

'That's just it, though, there are people who justify what they're doing by-'

'Doesn't that come back to what I said before, about how certain  _aspects_  will appeal to certain people? It was the same during the Prophet's (saw) time, too. You had people joining them and claiming to be Muslim because of perceived 'perks' and advantages; because they felt the Muslims were the 'stronger team'. I know if I was to call most of these people out on their actions and their hypocrisy then they would take offence and attempt to deny it.'

'Why offence? It's pretty blatant that what they're doing is wrong, isn't it?'

'Because their understanding of hypocrisy is narrow.'

'Meaning?'

'The general understanding – among them and from what I understand of them – for hypocrisy and hypocrites, is that it's when someone claims to be of faith but doesn't truly have faith. It ignores, avoids, and effectively denies the wider and somewhat 'softer' scope that those words entail.'

'So it's a little like...everyone being a little racist?' Kam suggested.

'Ah,' I said, nodding a little, 'that twinge of discomfort and mistrust around other ethnicities, but it being 'okay' because you have a friend who's black or whatever, so you can't possibly be racist.'

'Brain balm,' said Kam, returning my nod.

'So these people are adamant that they are 'of the faithful' and will not accept anyone questioning them being Muslim, and they reject the possibility that they could be considered hypocrites because they believe they are holding on to the  _Shahada_.'

'And the wrongness?' I asked Ishy.

'They've justified it to themselves, somehow. I once read that  _'Men cannot be made good by the state, but they can easily be made bad'_  and that  _'the notion of sin and repentance waned with the belief in authority. Men thought they could make good the evil they did'_ , and I'm quite convinced that a lot of those out there doing these atrocious acts are of this mind: that they will be able to make good the evil that they are doing...that they can justify it.'

We went back to being quiet again, and then Ishy said:

'George, there are two basic rules in life: Love God, and love your fellow human being.'

'C'mon, that's-'

'I'm serious. Those are the two things that encompass everything we do. That are  _supposed_  to encompass everything we do.'

Sam shook his head and looked at me with such pity in his eyes. 'You  _actually_  believed this guy? Look around you. All these people want is for everyone else to be dead. They can't even agree among themselves. 'Love your fellow human being'. He was giving you platitudes!

* * *

 _The Problem With Washing Dirty Hands – article by Clark Kent, posted online on the_ Daily Star _news site_

_It's a problem many a mechanic, labourer, parent and so on has faced every day – getting their hands clean after a day's work – but it's apparently not something certain people, including politicians and other 'officials', have an issue with. The reason? Much like those who don't wash their hands after using the bathroom, these people don't consider their hands to be 'dirty'. There is no oil, no paint, no stain – to them, their hands are clean and all is well._

_In some countries, those promoting bribes are called 'lobbyists'. Of course, not all who try to bribe are lobbyists and there are many lobbyists who strive to protect the interests those of us without socioeconomic power would otherwise find stifled. There are lobbyists who strive to defend against corruption, but corruption and bribery aren't just about money or 'gifts' passing hands; it's also about influence and power and, arguably, those who are most adept at lobbying prefer these aspects over the generic monetary one._

_For those less adept or less influential, it's well known that there is a degree of 'investment' when it comes to lobbying, but what may be less well-known is how_ _substantial_ _the return on investment can be. A study in 2009 put forward the potential return to be as much as 22,000%. It's arguable that something like would be incentive enough for most people to be willing to 'grease' someone's palm, or allow theirs to be greased._

_In the US there are strict and often complicated rules when it comes to lobbying, and the rules demand an extensive amount of disclosure. This disclosure allows for a degree of awareness with regards to which entities lobby, how they generally go about it, whom they approach and whom they use, as well as the general costs. In essence, it's networking with lots of mutual (and attempted) back-scratching._

_(It's not just in the halls of Washington DC that this happens, of course. It filters down even to schools and hospitals and airports in one form or another, and it is, perhaps, worthwhile noting that in 2010 and 2011 the United States was not in the top 20_ _least_ _corrupt nations and is currently at joint 19th with Chile.)_

_There's nothing like that in Pakistan when it comes to disclosure. Here, the 'lobbying' is pretty much bribery, period. Some call it 'lehn dehn', or 'give and take' or 'an exchange'. Some are smarter about it now than they used to be, opting for things like 'preferential shares' in a business, since something like that is the 'smarter' and sometimes more 'American' way and is less likely to raise eyebrows than suddenly getting title to an expensive off-plan apartment in a now approved development._

_There, as in everything, those who do things the proper way; who refuse to kowtow to corrupt demands and stick firmly to the treacle-like path of 'doing it right'. There are also those now able to shine a light on aspects of the corruption blighting the country – whether it is by naming and shaming traffic cops and police officers or revealing the 'fee' put forward by some official in order to process an application. Long live social media!_

_The_ _problem_ _, though, is with how ingrained it is within the overall culture now, despite how much the people hate it. The problem is with how accepted and expected it is. It's a problem which is being tackled but isn't something that can be turned around so quickly. Governments may change but most of the civil servants will remain; new police officers may come in, but the 'old guard' will continue to be there; new doctors will start work, but the older ones with the itchy palms will still give the nod._

 _It has been calculated (by_ Transparency International _) that Pakistan lost more than Rs 8.5 trillion (US$94 billion) due to corruption, tax evasion, bad governance and so forth, over a period of 5 years. It's quite apparent that no heed has been paid to Pakistan founder Jinnah's words where he said:_ 'Corruption is a curse in India and amongst Muslims, especially the so-called educated and intelligentsia. Unfortunately, it is this class that is selfish and morally and intellectually corrupt. No doubt this disease is common, but amongst this particular class of Muslims it is rampant.'

_Although some have tried – and continue to try – to clean Pakistan's hands, more soap and more water and a more rigorous rubbing is needed, and they need to get under the nails, too. Perhaps then the hopes that Jinnah and those who dreamed with him will come true and bear fruit._

* * *

_Extracts from Kam's (encrypted) video journal_

It's been an exhausting week and I think I'm getting a bit of a bad rep. No skin off my nose, though. I am what I am.

...I also think I might be in love...

Don't laugh, but even the holo-desk seems to have picked up on it. The darn thing made a new room.

I don't even know her, though, so I can't be in love. Right?

I'm going to have to ask Ishy and Kelex about how invasive this holo-desk is (or seems to be). Dictating and transcribing my words isn't a major thing, but it seems to be lifting thoughts and memories, too. Don't get me wrong, I would love something like a pensieve, but it's just sort of 'pulled up' my whole conversation with her.

Actually...no, wait, does this thing just record  _everything?_  I think it does. I think it...wow. So now I have three Recorders: the two angels and this.

'You were really passionate about what you were saying, but you didn't shout like the others,' she said to me suddenly. I didn't even realise she was talking to me. My heart was still racing from the rush of the 'debate'. You can't even call it a 'debate' when the other side are so brainwashed. I was walking away and on a bit of an adrenaline rush and I didn't hear her when she tried to talk to me again. It was only the third time, and probably only because she was suddenly walking beside me, that I realised she was talking to me.

'I'm sorry, are you-?'

And she smiled and said, 'Yes, I'm talking to you. That was quite the debate. How did it make you feel when they were so dismissive of some of the things you said?'

'Are you a reporter or something?'

She laughed and said she was 'nothing of the kind. I'm just a first year doing PPE...'

And then we walked and talked. Me all casual and then gesticulating and waving my arms about like an idiot, and her all nodding, questioning, prodding, and clutching those thick books to her chest.

I'm so stupid! I should have carried them for her!

'The look on their faces when you asked them why they were picking and choosing over which verses 'apply now' and which ones 'applied back then'. It was like you had slapped them.'

'It's a valid question, though, isn't it? They were going on about how the Qur'an is for and applicable to  _all_  time, but when you point them to Surah Kafiroon and how it starts with God giving us an  _instruction_ -'

'Well, they said it was an instruction specifically for Prophet Muhammad, right?'

' _Sallallahu alaihi wasallam_.'

'What?'

'Sorry, it's...for a Muslim, when the Prophet is mentioned we says ' _Sallallahu alaihi wasallam_ ', which means, basically, 'peace and blessings be upon him.'

'Even if a non-Muslim mentions him?'

'Even then.'

'Why?'

'uh...well, it's not just when his name is mentioned, it's also when other prophets or even the archangels are mentioned.'

'Yes, but why?'

'Because God said:  _Allah and His angels send prayers on the Prophet: O you who believe! Send your prayers on him, and salute him with all respect._ '

'Hmm...so since they were saying that, too, then that's one of the verses they consider being a 'for all time' one, then?'

I think I grinned at – yeah, the holo-desk is showing me that I did grin at her. This is so embarrassing.

'And that surah you mentioned?'

'Basically, it says that 'we're not going to worship the same, so for you your religion and for me mine'.'

'And they said that that was only for that delegation that was in Medina at the time?'

'Pretty much. Ignoring the fact that Surah Baqarah opens with saying ' _this is the book in which there is guidance_ ' but, still, God did warn that people will pick and choose which verses they like.'

I just realised...maybe this is why those holograms of Jor-El and Lara seem so real and so...alive. Kelex said this would adapt to my needs but maybe it's more than that.

Wow.

Okay, so, Elizabeth (I've always liked that name although, right now, I've got Macho Man Randy Savage saying it over and over again in my head...) she then asked me if I fancied getting a coffee and continuing our chat...but I couldn't...I didn't have time...

...I didn't expect this to happen...

...I don't know what to do...

* * *

_Extract from Jawad's notes_

As our discussions and ideas have progressed so, too, has the scale of what we want to do. Whereas before we wanted to establish the treatment plant and the mill and to have homes and villages for the staff, we now have a 20-year plan incorporating a university like the King Edward Medical University of old as well as hospitals and a recycling plant and a whole host of other things.

We have one underlying rule: no bribes.

It's a truth universally acknowledged that palms are expected to be greased in order to get things done. As culturally embedded as this is  _across the world_ , it's uncomfortably apparent in Asia, Africa, South America, and the Middle East. Uncomfortably so. (Of course, some 'bribes' have to be paid if your life is dependent on it and some git is threatening to shoot you if you don't...). Regardless of this universally acknowledged truth, though, we are not going to pay any.

In this day and age, there is a huge degree of ease when it comes to networking – there is still, however, the ever-existent problem of time-wasters, but Kelex has offered to help with that by conducting 'non-intrusive voice analyses' for me. I'm not really comfortable with it but...I mean, is it wrong? Those big corporations have all these analysts and stuff, right? And it's just Kelex telling us if someone is serious in the project, interested but wary, or not interested at all, so...that's not a bad thing, is it?

I keep hearing about how people want to turn this country around and make it what it was originally envisioned to be, but I don't think people actually know what that was anymore. Out there there are people saying this was supposed to be a country for Muslims. An 'Islamic state' or an 'Islamic republic'. They point to the mass emigration that happened with the Partition as proof of this, ignoring all those Muslims, Hindus, Sikhs, Christians and so on who risked their lives hiding and protecting Muslims, Hindus, Sikhs, Christians and so on. Muslims hiding and protecting Hindus, Sikhs and Christians from rampaging and bloodthirsty Muslims; Sikhs hiding and protecting Muslims from rampaging and bloodthirsty Sikhs and Hindus.

I'm not a Pakistani, but it looks to me like so many forget aspects of Jinnah's fourteen points. Full religious liberty for all communities, for example. It was one of his key points, but, instead, you have oppression.

I don't want this project to divide. I want it to unite. I want it to make things better.

' _No man ought to be condemned to live in a place where a rose cannot grow_ ,' and although we're surrounded by massive hills and countryside, I want to make sure that the project and the further developments we do can help in bringing about an end to poverty and deprivation. It's not a 'campaign' as such, I don't think, but it is a goal and I think, with the right people and the right mindset, I think it's something we can achieve...even if it's just here, in this region.

During the time Ishy and Kam were away I did a bit of a wander myself. Nothing as extensive as theirs and none of their kinds of adventures, either (which kind of sucks, but still). I found these sort of 'temperance' groups in Pakistan and in Brazil and Mexico. I've no doubt that there are similar groups and organisations across the world with similar aims – to bring people out of addictions and poverty and so on. Kashmir and Murree used to like sanatoriums but maybe we can...I don't know, maybe we can use things like employment and education here to bring people up and out of their addictions and stuff?

The initial goal we've given ourselves is to set up the treatment plant. This is, relatively speaking, the easy part because we have Ishy's formula (which he's now tweaked so it doesn't have the colour problem) and we have the patent and we have samples and can show it in action. We already have a few investors and two of them have teamed up in order to help us get the planning and development approvals through so we can build the plant soon and get things up and running.

As we were putting the proposal together, I realised that one of the big pluses for guys like me is that we won't have to worry anymore about that bit of our trousers where our thighs rub the material together and we eventually end up with holes and ruined trousers.

(Seriously, it's a major problem for people like me.)

This venture capitalist stuff has been such an eye-opener for me, but I can't help but have that nagging feeling that something is going to go wrong. You hear all these stories about investors taking over or of 'government crackdowns' because there were no kickbacks. Maybe it's because so many people only worry about the here and now, or the here and the next year or so...maybe us having plans going forward 5, 10, 20, 50 years isn't the good idea I thought it was...


End file.
